My life is like a piece of cake.
Some parts are better than others and I eat it, bit by bit. Slowly.
Some parts I have to choke down, others I inhale willingly.
They never told me that you meet people you want to share your cake with, but they taste it, then decide it doesn't taste good.
Then you meet someone who tastes it, and decides to stay. They stay through the nasty moldy parts, and gag on it with you. They stay when the frosting is sweet and the cake is moist.
You tasted my cake for so long and you've stayed through the rotten parts and through the goods.
You wiped my tears when I found bits of glass embedded in my bite and swallowed them.
When I was worried about my cake becoming rotten and you leaving me, you held me and eased my worries.
When my cake was sweet and fluffy, we ate it with absolute joy.