My kinda perfect
I've been typing and deleting whatever I've written for the past 15 minutes.
I guess we can't really describe perfectness because it hardly ever is the same with different people, but its just there in the little things, somewhat like the cool morning breeze and breakfast in bed. It is heard in the comfort of silence, seen in the peacefulness of sleep and felt in everything but emptiness. Every time I say I love you, I actually mean Thank you for loving me. If it wasn't annoying, I would tell you I love you every time you hold my hand, kiss me, or even get angry with me just because you were concerned about me.
Sometimes it feels unjust shit has to happen to you. Because you're such a good person and I never understood why you would ever need to be punished for anything. Sometimes when shit happens to me, I always feel it's retribution for something bad I've done. But I can't think of any reason why The Person Up There has to do this to you. Sometimes I feel like I'm your jinx.
You held me and stayed strong for me and looked on the bright side for me. I don't know if you break down inside and I cannot be there for you because I'm busy being pessimistic and you are focussed on making it alright for me.
So Thank you for loving me again.
I remember how you reminded me at least 5 times in 6 days that there is a hole in the grass when we walked to our chalet. A part of me wanted to tell you, I know you told me before, or I can see. But I just wanted to smile to myself every time you repeated yourself because you seem so obsessively concerned about me.
Thank you for only venting your anger only in words or on objects, and for subconsciously or instinctively needing or wanting me around even when you're not really in the right state of mind, and for pulling my heavy luggage without grumbling, and for always letting me take the inner seats in buses.
And these are how you are my kinda perfect.
I guess we can't really describe perfectness because it hardly ever is the same with different people, but its just there in the little things, somewhat like the cool morning breeze and breakfast in bed. It is heard in the comfort of silence, seen in the peacefulness of sleep and felt in everything but emptiness. Every time I say I love you, I actually mean Thank you for loving me. If it wasn't annoying, I would tell you I love you every time you hold my hand, kiss me, or even get angry with me just because you were concerned about me.
Sometimes it feels unjust shit has to happen to you. Because you're such a good person and I never understood why you would ever need to be punished for anything. Sometimes when shit happens to me, I always feel it's retribution for something bad I've done. But I can't think of any reason why The Person Up There has to do this to you. Sometimes I feel like I'm your jinx.
You held me and stayed strong for me and looked on the bright side for me. I don't know if you break down inside and I cannot be there for you because I'm busy being pessimistic and you are focussed on making it alright for me.
So Thank you for loving me again.
I remember how you reminded me at least 5 times in 6 days that there is a hole in the grass when we walked to our chalet. A part of me wanted to tell you, I know you told me before, or I can see. But I just wanted to smile to myself every time you repeated yourself because you seem so obsessively concerned about me.
Thank you for only venting your anger only in words or on objects, and for subconsciously or instinctively needing or wanting me around even when you're not really in the right state of mind, and for pulling my heavy luggage without grumbling, and for always letting me take the inner seats in buses.
And these are how you are my kinda perfect.
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