You, my love, you confuse me.
You’ll eat a whole chicken,
A full serving of fried rice,
And still crib about being hungry.
You’ll rant about how I misplaced a pen,
But your own wardrobe will never be tidy.
You’ll tell me you hate lies,
Yet lie to me about your shitty day.
You’ll make fun of my jiggly bits,
Laugh at my exertions on a single bench press,
But hold onto me tight at some party,
When I’m in ‘our’ favourite dress.
You’ll tell me you’re not a homely guy or a family man,
But wrap me a sandwich with a cheesy love quote on the flank.
I know you secretly cry when we watch dramas,
But oh, how you hoot shamelessly through graphic horrors!
I hate that you shy away from PDA,
But I love that you’ll fight a guy who checks me out.
Why do you tell me you’re busy at work,
When all you do is text me about how I’m doing?
And yet when I tell you I’m feeling down,
You’ll never call or text, when I need you to,
But show up on my door the same day, unannounced,
and whisk me away to my favourite restaurant.
Where I squirm about how,
I look crappy in baggy sweatpants,
While you are your suave self,
In a white shirt and tapered grey slacks.
You’ll never remember my favorite color,
Or movie, or song, or how I like my tea.
But you’ll never forget my mum’s birthday,
My niece’s favorite toy,
Or my brother’s anniversary.
And oh, explain to me please why, when we’re in bed,
Like a cat looking for her spot, you’ll snuggle up close to me,
But leave me high and dry, while you snore off,
Right after we’ve done the deed?
You, my love, you are queer and crazy.
But what does that say about me?
The one who loves you inspite of your quirks,
Or is it ‘for’ your quirks?
Copyright ©2017 Pradita Kapahi.
All rights reserved.
Image Credits: www.pinterest.com