Fifty Percent

I don't iron his shirts I don't sew on his buttons I don't know all the jokes he tells, or the songs he hums Though I may hold him, all through the night He may not be here, when the morning comes I don't pick out his ties Or expect his tomorrows But I feel, when he's in my arms, he's where he wants to be We have no memories, bittersweet, with time And I doubt if he'll spend New Year's Eve, with me I don't share his name I don't wear his ring There's no piece of paper, saying that he's mine But he says he loves me, and I believe it's true Doesn't that make someone, belong to you? So, I don't share his name So, I don't wear his ring So, there's no piece of paper, saying that he's mine So, we don't have the memories I've had enough memories I've washed enough mornings I've dried enough evenings I've had enough birthdays, to know what I want Life is anyone's guess It's a constant surprise Though you don't plan to fall in love When you fall, you fall I'd rather have fifty percent of him Or any percent of him Than all of anybody else, at all