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You are against my choices,
you don't like the decisions I make,
you hate the way I eat,
but all my leftover food, you take

I'm not even your type,
you hate the way I cut my hair;
there's no moment I caught you stare,
you said I'm the abstract
from the painting you wanted to paint

But here we are, still together;
we argue once
we reconcile twice,
we are blinded by love
and that's perfect to me.

— The End —