When I say, "why do you love me?",
I don't actually want a reply.
Its another way of me wondering
how you manage to like my mess:
The way I often curse under my breath
when I'm annoyed, tired, hungry, mad, and stressed;
The way you overlook my defects
and the way I could willingly surrender the life that I've led.
You simply sigh sadly
and look at me like I am still...