Why does love have to be so fucking complicated? Here I am, at midnight, standing over his sleeping body, thinking about how much I love him, knowing we’re just going to get up in the morning and fight. Over what? I don’t know. Neither does he. Or maybe we do. It always comes back down to the same old shit. But again, it won’t matter. Because neither of us will ever change. And that’s one thing I love about him. I don’t want him to change. But at the same time, some compromise would be really fucking awesome sometimes.
I walked downstairs to the kitchen to pour a glass of iced tea and sit on the couch for a few minutes before snuggling in next to him. Loving someone can be a very tiresome job. Hmm, that’s an interesting thought. If I were going to quantify our positions, I’d be a Love CFO probably. Maybe higher. But he’s always President. Never question his authority, or you might get fired.
I could stab him in the fucking face right now and no one would know. I suppose that’s what love is.