I love that I immediately know that you are mine
with your belly swollen with my textbooks
and throwing up discarded papers.

I love the smell of the alcohol from rotting pears
that fills my nose
when that four month old container falls
onto the floor and explodes into a pungent flame.

I love not being able to get my worn out
book bag into your thin frame
and the music my moans and grunts create.

I love how you resemble a museum
full of old tests and gym shorts
and chip bags and chewn up pencils

I love how you block my view
of the people next to me and
how you always make me late.

         Please don't change
        For God knows I wont make you.