“You are perfect”
“You are crazy”
I adore your smile. I know, I know, I must be crazy, right? After all, your teeth are lined with metal and your features have changed. Orthodontic surgery may have fixed your jaw but it broke your confidence. Not that you had much to begin with. You have always been your own worst critic. When you run your tongue over the back of your teeth and feel that metal brace, it is a physical reminder of your imperfections. The first time I asked you about it, you blushed, but it’s okay, I give you permission to think me crazy, when I tell you that I love your smile. Your smile just melts me. When you laugh, your blue eyes shine and I cannot help but grin along with you. Did you know that when you concentrate real hard, your lips part slightly and with brow furrowed, you gently grip the tip of your tongue between your teeth? And were you aware that when you speak excitedly, your mouth works faster than your brain can structure the sentences, and you stumble and stutter, occasionally lisping out those “S” sounds as the words spill out faster and faster and did you know that sometimes I am not even listening? Instead I am just watching, mesmerised, lusting, as your lips dance and your tongue flickers over those words and I remember how sweet your kisses taste, how soft your tongue feels on my skin and how sharp your bites sting. I picture your jaw, clenched, your lips parted, and those words turning into murmured sighs when I touch you and in that moment I want nothing more than your mouth on me.
I know that when you look in the mirror, you do not see what I do. I mean, who in their right mind would find that body hair attractive? Those fluffy legs, that spray of dark hair on your chest and your hairy back are all shamefully covered in summer, lest you scare the neighbours with your ugliness. I think you are right baby, I think I might just be a little crazy, because at night, when you snuggle into me and I feel those soft hairs on your legs tickling the back of mine, I smile. I feel content. I love nothing more than laying my head on your chest, breathing in your sweet smell, as I fall asleep on that hairy place we have affectionately dubbed “mine” and sometimes, when you fall asleep, I will spend hours tracing my fingers over your skin, feeling that soft fluffiness under my fingertips and I feel blessed. My sweet teddy bear. Sometimes my fingers wander down towards your bum, sorry, I stand corrected, your ‘flat’ bum. Another part of you deemed unattractive, or at least, that’s what you have assured me. As you know, I am never usually wrong (Shush.) but in this instance, I guess I must be, because I fucking love that arse. It looks so good filling out those blue jeans, just begging me to cop a cheeky feel.
I find you fascinating. I love your gentleness and grace, watching you type, your little finger always tipped upwards like you were sipping tea with the queen. You move so silently (And scare the living shit out of me when I don’t hear you coming.) yet you always manage to find the one thing in the room to trip over and of course, it wasn’t your fault. Who put that chair there! That fucking chair, that has been there for about a year now, (Apparently it blends in a little too well with the carpet.) You are my shy guy. You blush so easily and I love to take advantage of that. (Are you blushing now baby?) and when you fuck up, you have the cutest little guilty look.
Oh but you do piss me off a lot. Your favourite phrase is “In a minute” you whinge like a bitch when you are tired, (Don’t even get me started on when you are ill.) you pick at your feet in bed (Seriously, that has to stop!) you leave the toilet seat up all the time, you are a stubborn little shit and you are never in the wrong.
“I love you”
“Really, why? I piss you off all the time”
I never asked for a Yes Man, a mirror image of myself, or an empty shell. Call me crazy but I love your fire and I need your passion. Heck, I can even get on board with the stubbornness…Occasionally. Of course, I am pretty good at hiding my smile as I watch you throw your little hissy fits. Remember that time you decided to make a point by kicking an empty box in the hallway? It was going so well… until you kicked it. I guess you expected it to fly across the hall in a macho display of rage. What you didn’t expect was for your foot to go straight through it, because if you had, you wouldn’t of almost gone arse over tit. That was probably the hardest I ever worked at holding in a burst of laughter. In that moment, as I watched you stumble down the hall with a box stuck to your foot, I think I peed a little.
You do make me angry and sometimes you make me sad. Two emotions that you focus on and take meaning from. “You can’t want me, I annoy you” Of course you annoy me, you are a pain in the ass. You are my pain in the ass though. You also make me feel loved. I feel content in your arms. I feel warm. You give me pleasure. You can make me laugh out loud or have me screaming into my pillow. You look after me when I am sick and support me in my desires. You are my rock. You make me feel. Sometimes those feels are bad, but mostly they are good and it is impossible to have one without the other.
When you look in the mirror, you see every little imperfection, every little flaw. You are a perfectionist and that’s okay because there is somebody out there who looks at you and sees perfection. To that person, your flaws make you who you are. She loves you because of your flaws. She fell in love with them when she fell in love with you.
To her, you will always be perfectly imperfect.
Happy anniversary, from that crazy lady you happen to know.