She thinks I give her too much credit, I see her too perfectly but that’s all anyone ever does. How else am I supposed to think of you; a person, a person, a person? I can’t get anything from that, don’t start me on how a human being doesn’t make sense, it’s a thought I can’t claw my way out of.

Yes, love, I put you on a pedestal, every piece, even the parts I shouldn’t -  even your petty lies and your pretending like you’re innocent of all the things you really want. You’re selfish; you sleep on your stomach and it’s undignified, unattractive. I liked you first, I like you best straight out the shower, skin scrubbed red and raw. This is nothing new; I’m not saying I’m a saint for seeing you better than you are, I’m not saying you’re special some-place else, somewhere outside my head but that’s a place too.

She thinks I idolize her. She thinks I imagine a girl but don’t know her, that there’s no way I could. I don’t think there’s really a secret to knowing what someone is truly like. You just have to be with them, live with them, do it slowly. Time. Yeah, that one. Again, or still. Forever and ever.