I told him that I always fail in what I do.

I dance: mediocre.
I sing: not good enough.
I draw: too simple.

I would always cry in front of him, pushing him away, punching his chests frantically, telling him to leave me.

"I'm a failure!" I would always cry out, and he...

He would just take it all. He would accept my outburst, he would accept how down I was, he would accept how I always tell him that I am a failure.

"You're in love with a failure." I would tell him countless of times, wanting him to one day see that I am not worthy of his affections and care.

I've always been a confident woman, that is, in front of prying eyes I am. I should be strong, I have a reputation to uphold.

In front of everyone, even my own family, I would tell them how successful I am. I am trying this, I am trying that, I've been given a medal here- but, nothing of those feels fulfilling.

I want to excel in something, I just don't want to be second place. That is failure to me... to see myself not be number one, always... always, I am number two.

"I am in love with you and your failures." At least, to him, I am his number one. I do not have to fight for anything- not his affections, not his attention, nothing.

That is the only thing I revel in, and I love it.

Until, one day, I also have to fight for him. A woman, much more beautiful than me, much more talented than me; so much more...compared to me.

I could see it in her eyes that she is also in love with him. Those are my eyes, I would know those eyes everywhere.

"She's much more beautiful than me, you know." I told her while casually sipping on my coffee. He would just shake his head, a teasing smile on his face.

"Yeah, I know."

"She is much more talented than me."

"Mmm hmmm."

"Much more than me."

This time, he frowned. He didn't agree with what I said. I looked at him confused, isn't he acknowledging that the other one is much more- of everything than me?

"What are you talking about? She will never be better than you." To see a person's real intention and feeling, you must look at the eyes. The eyes is the window to their soul.

His eyes, a vibrant shade of majestic gray, showed so much of what he is feeling. I know because I have been with him for a long time, even if he doesn't realize it himself.

"You're serious?"

"I always am, love. I always am."

He stayed with me, even if the other woman is around. He stayed by my side even if she started to offer him things that I cannot give up yet.

I don't know if I'm living with an angel or a saint.

"You're something else." I told him, practically staring at him with love shown in my eyes. He chuckled and cupped my face, slowly bringing his own to mine.

We kissed.

It's not the first time we kissed, we have done it a lot of times, but this one felt different. It felt like a seal, a contract of some sort.

A promise.

"Come on, I'll cook you something." And not to mention, other than being loyal and there for me, he is a great cook. Another one of my downsides, my cooking skills are down the drain.

But, he knows that. And, really, he doesn't care.

"You can do it, love. I believe in you."

We both have stable jobs; we both work in an office and we can live without worry because of both our pays. What I am trying to do is me searching for something I am good, something I am passionate about.

Unfortunately, I have not found anything at all.

"How did it go, hun?"

"I-I, they told me I have the talent, but..." It's always that someone is better than me.

He would understand, smile and give me a comforting hug.

This would go on and on, until I found what I really is good at.

And it's all because of him.

"Why don't you try writing?"

"Huh?" I looked at him, confusion in my face.

"Writing," I know he said writing but... I am not confident that I can do that. The other things I've tried out with or auditioned at were some of the things that I've done when I was a child.

"I don't know..." He smiled, held my hands and gripped them tightly, not so much to hurt me, but enough to encourage me.

"You would write wonderful things. You are my precious, little writer, right?"

He knows almost everything about me, and this just proves it more. I love reading books, I love reciting poetries, but I never had the time to pursue it because it was not laid down to me by my parents.

They wanted me to learn how to dance, sing, paint- but writing never came up. I feel like... I could get more freedom in writing.

"I'll try."

Failure is inevitable. It is like a stepping stone to go to the next level, you must fail at least once.

Continiously winning means that you might fall, with the stairs so slippery and wet.

The first time I tried in a writing contest, I didn't win. I wasn't passionate enough about it- that they would always say. It might be true, but I worked hard for what I wrote.

"Don't cry, don't cry..." He would take me in his arms, hug me tight and let me cry on his shoulder. I thought by around this time he would stop me from doing things.

"...you can do better next time." He said that. 'Next time', he said he would still support me even if I haven't won.

"Are you sure?" Hesitation is very imminent in my voice.

"I am 100% sure."

I wrote about what I felt the next time I tried, wrote about how I feel like a failure, wrote about how even though with all the circumstances, my lover is still there for me.

I poured my whole being and self in what I wrote.

"First place!"

I won! Finally, I won!

"See, I told you that you can do it." He said, and this time another kiss happened.

A kiss of fulfillment, of forever.

"I'm in love with a failure." He said teasingly, but I know what he wants to say.

"This failure is winning."