I love you. All of you. Including your flaws. Maybe especially them. It is to the point where I wonder if I'd love you at all if you were perfect. I love you for everything that you aren't, for every hiccup in your genetic makeup, every nick on your face, everything that they make gels and scrubs to get rid of. For every time you fell short of the mark, every time you almost did but didn't. I love you for all the things you could never love about yourself, all the skeletons in your closet, all the things you'd rather no one ever know enough about to love. And you are completely ignorant to that fact, and perhaps that is another flaw that has me falling more and more in love with you.