I liked my eyes when you looked into them;
I thought they were lifeless - You thought that they were an ocean.
I liked my legs when you ran your hands up them;
I thought they served a purpose - You thought that they belonged to a dancer.
I liked my name when you called it,
My hands when you played with them,
My hair when you sank your hands into it.

But I only liked me -
all of me -
when you left.