She praises my work
I under-articulate my writing
She loves my mind
I hate my brain
She stares into my eyes
I avoid them in the mirror
She runs her hand over my chest
I cross my arms over it
She kisses my lips
I let her
She tells me she loves me
I respond with my self-hatred
She loves my smile
I wish I didn't smile as much
She loves my hands
I am dissatisfied with all they do
She is an optimist by birth, beyond her control.
I am a pessimist by necessity, entirely by choice.
,;: