The actual pain and anger I am overwhelmed with when he puts himself down is unbelievable.
It's like I have had a masterpiece painting hanging in my house for as long as I could remember, and one day someone expresses they don't see its beauty. You explain to them it is all about their angle and perception of it. They do not understand. When you finish a great book or an excellent movie and you hear people critiquing it based on what they've heard of it, not by what they've seen and experienced of it. The frustration I get when he bags on himself is unreal and unfair, because if he saw himself like I see him, he would understand why some people believe that certain smiles could cure cancer and end wars. He is the type of boy you read about in books. He is art and a masterpiece and everything in between. He is lovely, he is perfect, and he is all mine.
To him: So next time someone puts down your favorite book or favorite band, remember your frustration and fury, and remember that is how I feel every **** time you consider yourself anything less than the exquisite human being that you really are.