I love, a hundred times over, the little things you hate about yourself. The way you hate hot coffee, and how you only use fake sugar, even though you know it's bad for you. The way your feet turn out when you walk, and the way you go down stairs so slowly, so afraid. Your widows peak, and the soft curve of your nose. Your face without any makeup on. The way your lips are always just a little chapped. The soft curve of your hips, the chub you hate so much. How small your ears are and how gorgeous your eyes. I love how angry little things make you, and how even when you're angry you're calm and soft, until you snap and start to cry. I love how you're the most present when you're listening to or making music and when you get angry on the behalf of others - like when you nearly punched a creep who was grinding on me at a concert. I love how careful and how safe and thoughtful you are, but how you thirst for life so hard. You love music and dancing and sex and weed and tequila and tattoos and peircings and fashion and shopping and talking politics until you push me into road rage because we disagree just a little bit on something but I don't want to hurt your feelings. I love you. We fit in ways I didn't think were possible and I am crushed every day by the notion that you may never love me the same way.
