Lament and nothing to lose.

I love your face when I’m kissing you.

I love the way your eyes look at me when we are making love.

I love the way you smell, even when you haven’t bathed. Because it just smells like you.

I love it when you take showers for me though, too. 

I love the way my sheets smell like you for a day or two after you’ve been there, and after that I still stick my nose in the pillow where your head was, trying to find it.

I love your ideas about God and religion.

I love the noises you make when you eat.

And the noises you make when we make love.

I love the way small children and animals adore you.

I love how you do what you have to do almost always, like with work and school and things. You don’t let despair or laziness get the best of you.

I love how you talk to me and take care of me when I’m drunk. How patient you are.

I love how cool your back is and the way my face fits into it, and my arms around you. 

And I love laying on top of you and squishing you and how you pretend that you don't mind that my stupid bony little body is digging into you.

I love how you instinctively pull me closer to you even when you are deep in sleep.

I love how optimistic you can be about things. Naïve almost.

And how you are very worldly about other things, and how you try to protect me and warn me with your own experiences, even though I’m dumb and usually insist on figuring it out myself.

I love how we can have comfortable silences.

I love holding your hand

And the way you kiss me like my mouth is something very delicious.

In fact I just love kissing you period. With other people before it seemed kind of tedious and gross. I never get tired of kissing you ever.

I love your neck and how it smells. I want to burrow there forever.

I love how excited and slightly nervous I get before I see you.

I love how comfortable I am with my body when I’m with you. I actually like my boobs when I am with you.

I love dancing with you. It makes me weak in the knees.

I love how I would do almost anything for you. I would walk to be with you if I had to and in fact I almost have several times before I realized how ridiculous I was being.

I love how trusting and loyal you are to your friends, and I want to kill them when they betray that trust.

But I love your friends.

I love your family. And your dog.

I love your stomach. It’s so soft and lovely and adorable.

I love how our bodies fit together.

I love how you make me do things I would normally never do, or try things I shut myself off to. Like Mexican food and the music you listen to. I don’t really detest it all that much.

I love making things for you or giving you things.

I love how I think about you constantly. I dream about you all the time. I don’t normally dream about people I know.

I love your dreams and hearing about them.

I love your photography. And the way you draw.

And the way you hold your camera.

I love your hands in general.

I love sharing my things with you. I don’t care that you steal my lighters. And I don’t even like smoking Pall Malls but I love it when you share your cigarettes with me.

I love your laugh and making you laugh.

And your voice. I love your voice.

I love it when you call me every morning and wake me up. I realize now that I have no idea how to get up on my own, and I’m usually in a terrible mood. I am always happy after I talk to you.

I love hearing about all the things that happened during your day. Or the things you worry about. Or really just anything you have to say.

I love the freckles on your shoulders.

I love how I think of you when I hear certain songs. I’ve never been that sentimental before.

I love watching horrible reality TV shows with you and Maury and making fun of the people.

I love how you put up with me bossing you around, like demanding that you kiss or rub my tummy. You’re the best at doing that.

I love that out of all the beautiful and older and more normal girls in the world you chose me to be your girlfriend. I thought I didn’t take that for granted, but I should have realized how lucky I was to have that title.

I love that I love you, even though some people tell me I shouldn’t, and I refuse to believe that they are right. I love that I don’t want anyone else, that the thought of being with anyone else makes me feel sick. I love that I actually care about this, and that it’s not getting easier with time. It’s just getting harder. And I hate myself more and more each day for what I did. I feel like I have caused irreparable damage. I hate myself for this.  But I love you. I can’t stop.