My capacity for love is never ending.

Parents expecting a second child often admit a private fear: that love is finite, and some of it will have to be taken from the first one and reassigned. Then the second child arrives and nothing gets divided. The whole thing simply enlarges.

Love turns out not to behave like a budget, and spending it today doesn't leave less for tomorrow. What does run out is time, attention, patience at the end of a bad week. Those limits are real and worth respecting. The capacity sitting underneath them is not the thing in short supply.