"What did I do to deserve you?"
It's a sweet sentiment, sure but not one that I hold. I earned you. with my hands burrowed in dirt scraping, scratching, burning. My fingers fell off my hands, My features melted into my face, and I spent the rest of the millennium like that. Moulding, shaping, changing myself into someone you could love. And then when the timer ran out, mushrooms sprouted from the earth my new hands pulled me up from the soil, where I emerged as someone you would love. It was a risky process, sure but I was already nothing. How much lesser could I be? How would I have ever been adequate for your love? How can I be enough for an angel? So I died, and died, and died, skinned myself alive, peeled away my past, So I could grow, and grow, and grow to be something you should love. It would be fitting, sure to say that I lost myself in the musings of infatuation, but for you? I'd be a fool not to. And when you finally loved me too? It was simply the juice of the fruit whose seed I'd sown.
