“What do you love about me?”

I love that you’d probably scoff
At some bullshit response,
Like, “I love everything about you.”
Standard boyfriend response... but,
For me, that is the easiest question
Of all to answer.

I love the deep amber and brown of your eyes,
The gradual, rounded slope of your nose—cute.
I notice the freckle in your left nostril (my left)
And the one on your chin, mirroring each other.

I like your soft makeup, barely there.
I admire the length of your eyelashes,
Your mascara, even when it clumps.
I like your blank stare, your cute “meow,”

Your soft smile, and your proper smile with teeth
(Rarer in photos, but lovely).
But I love most your uncontrollable smile,
With laughter, where your face scrunches up,

And you pull away slightly,
Covering your mouth sometimes,
Blushing a little if you could.
I love that.

I like the clothes you put on for me,
That you shop before we see each other.
I like your jeans (both pairs).
You always look nice when we're together;

You rarely phone it in.
I love you for following through
On your flip-phone phase.
I love that you compliment my style,

And that you let me be delicate
In a world that’s coarse.
I love the jokes you tell in a group,
Those that some don't laugh at
and others don't hear.

I make an effort to listen, and I laugh,
Because I want to be on your side.
I love that you make an effort
To make friends, to be part of the group—

Not in a pathetic way, but in a way that's genuine,
Like I could bring you anywhere
And introduce you as my girl.
With pride.

I love that you did what Rob could never do.
I love that you came to the networking event,
That you invited me to the Celtics Parade,
That you bought me a jersey at the Red Sox game,

And defended my honor.
I love the way you stand up for yourself.
I love that you got dressed in the car,
for Mk.gee,
And you waited for my friends to leave before cursing me out.

I love that you didn't really kiss me
Until you kissed me.
I love the way you kissed me
When you finally did, in the car.

You sat in the driver’s seat that day.
I love that our first kiss was in a strip club,
And we made a friend with a fake Russian name—
Networking 101.

I love that you broke the rules that night (rare),
And how innocently you do when you do,
In a way that's entirely you:
Open, kind, full of wonder—

Equal parts tipsy and beautiful.
I love our meet-cute.
I love that we locked eyes instantly
And never really let go.

You had a Cobb salad that day.
I like that you don't eat much—
Because, well, fuck getting fat. Am I right?
even if you creamed yourself over some McDonald’s fries, after we broke up the first time

When I admitted I loved you
in the Boston Commons,
In much fewer words then,
After kissing you on the tree,
And after some killer karaoke.

You smelled sweet, like sweat that night.
I love that you don't want to be a bad person.
I love how we never had bad service
At a bar or restaurant.

Maybe because you bring out my charismatic side
(Don't call me sweetheart—exception, not the rule),
Or perhaps guys with beautiful girls get better service,
Or maybe I'm just too locked on your eyes

To notice the world around us.
To ever notice.
I like that you drink bourbon,
Even if it was for some douchebag.

I like the feel of your skin, soft,
And breathing you in by the nape of your neck—
Pulling gently at your hair,
Your belly.

Your feet a little bigger than you think.
The scent of hemp lotion, and off-brand Target spray,
That could never smell the same on someone else.
I like to trace both your half-moon tattoos,

Your skin adorned by thick gauge needle,
Just like my tattoos from Visible Ink in Malden.
I like your long, delicate alien fingers,

The way your hand feels in mine,
You on the right, always on the right.
The rest goes without saying in words.
I see you as a woman. You’re perfect.

I like that your passenger-side window doesn't open,
And your car is a mess, with the scent of perfume and weed.
I loved our late-night drives,
The sad song playlists, the pop music summer.

The city, and your home.
You even made me love the Seaport.
And little bar hop: Davio's, Committee (patio closed), Serafina.
I like that you took your clients to Davio's afterwards.

(Stop being so fucking cute),
I loved the day I gave you flowers,
And you let me fumble through the worst Instagram date of all time,
Only to make out on the patio over margaritas at Lolita’s

While the waitstaff laughed at us.
I love that no one understands us,
But everyone has an opinion.
I love that you turned me into a Swiftie

And asked if I'd heard of Noah Kahan (30.5M listeners per month).
I love sharing memes with you,
Even if our sense of humor isn't exactly the same.
It’s the payoff, I love making you laugh;

It feels like winning the lottery.
I love how you can tell right away if I'm nervous.
I love how you try to calm me down in your passive way—
Maybe that's just you—

When I can't hit a shot at the fair
Or I'm speaking too loudly at the table.
You can't control me, but I love that you tried.
I love how you sit cross-legged and read while I play basketball.

I love you in an oversized sweatshirt,
Even paired with leggings.
I love your quick little movements, like a little squirrel.
I like how you say "Whuuut?" with your blank face.

I like how you touch up your lips frequently,
With the orange-tinted lip gloss,
Going just beyond your top lip
Perfectly every time.

I love your complexion in bar light.
I think you've had one pimple since we met
(Top right forehead, my right).
I like how you say "Nooooo,"

And your whiny voice when you get mad or overwhelmed.
”You’re pissing me off!”
I'm envious of your emotions always in control.
I love the purpose you put into things.
I love how you want to be good to those who are good to you.

I love that your go-to recipe is made with heavy cream.
I like how you give head like you googled “how to give good head.”
You probably hate how I pussy, like from a textbook;
I've lost some things along the way too, sweetheart.

I like that you don't come easily, at least not with me,
And that you feel more comfortable with a sweatshirt on,
Because I'm self-conscious too, but a little less with you.
I love how imperfect I am with you,

And how much harder I want to try for you.
I want to be perfect for you.
I want to honor, love, and protect you
Because you deserve it.

And I thought I deserved you—
Someone who would protect my soul
Without suffocating it, letting it breathe.
I like the way you make me feel,

Like I was always this way,
Never having lived all those moments outside the sun.
I feel comfortable in my own skin with you.
I don't see someone ugly in the mirror.

My trauma is whisper quiet.
My confidence is unstoppable,
I don't see anything in any other woman anymore.
The bartender told me she could help me forget you,

But there's no way she could.
I didn’t know I would have to make a choice.
I didn’t know I would fall, quite like this.
I didn’t know how I could love my baby girl from afar,

And I don't want her to grow up in a world without her dad's love.
Because someone evil will tell her they love her
And steal her joy.
But I made the choice knowing full well

I am deeply and desperately in love with you as a person.
My person. I don’t have anything to lose anymore, D.
At the end, there was only you.

I hate the way your poem ended, where I disappear,
Because I've never once wanted that.
You were my soul’s best friend.
I hate that things slipped away so easily.

I get mad because of things you never said aloud.
I hate that you never fought for me,
Unless it was to end it and save your conscience.
I hate that you can be so passive,

Like you when you won't ask for a raise,
But I love that you have restraint.
I wish I could have learned that from you.
Because while no breakup is happy,

I loved you truer than that.
I loved you from the first time I ever saw you.
I hate that my words made you doubt how I felt,
Because I’d never felt these things before.
Not this way.

I fucking hate the things I say when I'm drunk—
Cruel, crass, and uncalculated. Barbaric, even.

When I said you didn’t stand a chance,
What I meant was that I never did.
I made my bed, and I have to lie in it.
There was never a chance to love you properly.

To not leave the hotel early.
To not say goodnight in the car,
With the world calling on the phone.
I was impatient.

And I couldn’t leave a woman,
Whose only crime was to love me.
She even held me when I cried for you.
She was the fool. And I chose her.

The cynics and the dead,
They say things like there's no such thing as true love.
“True love requires at least one fool.”
Never has a person changed my view of what love can be,

And reminded me that life is an adventure.
And it's so dark now knowing,
The second half of my life will be permanently stained black,
With sharpie drawn over the floral canvas

Of August and late summer, together.
I made a decision knowing full well
I am truly, madly, desperately in love with you.

I lied to everyone, including my therapist.
I couldn’t talk to my dad. I was afraid he’d tell me to go to you.
And he’s never right.
It was you I loved all along,

You who consume my every thought.
And I hate the world, I hate the game, I hate family,
I hate dating, I hate marriage.
I didn't know you existed, and now I can't see anyone else but you.
I can’t unsee you, D.

When I close my eyes,
When I open them in the morning,
It's you.

Whether it’s unhealthy, laborious, or I’m simply addicted,
I don’t fucking care—
I love the way I love you.

10/22/24