I hate the way you look me in the eyes and tell me everything is going completely fine. I hate that you take off 5 seconds later because you have to finish something from work. I don’t like
the fact that you do not keep your promise when we agreed on not taking work to home.
I mind that you just give me pizza every time that happens.
I hate pizza by now, and I always enjoyed it so much that you started hating that.
I don’t like it that you just leave me alone on the couch, watching the show we always used to watch together. I thought it was suppose to be something we do together. One of the million
things we have to share the rest of our lives. I also thought that moving in with you would be a step closer to marriage, but I’m starting to think it was three steps back. I hate it that my
mates say I’m henpecked.
I refuse to be henpecked.
And you know what I else hate? I hate it that you call me Thomas all the time. Never those nicknames you used before we got this great apartment. It’s always: “Thomas, could you place your
feet down?” or “The towels belong on the drying-frame, Thomas, not under it.”
I don’t like it when you correct me with things like that. I’ve always been a slob and you never had any problems with that when you moved in with me the first time after you got kicked out
of your parental house. But now that we bought ourselves together a new apartment, it’s suddenly yours too.
It’s not like you’re the neatest person around here. There are thousands things that bother me from you, but you don’t hear me nag about them in your face, do you?
But out of all this, my biggest issue is the problem that I still love you no matter what. If you only could imagine what it would be like if none of those things were going on and I just
loved you. It would kill me, if you think about it.
I love you until the end and no matter what you try, you won’t stop me. I hate that I love you. But I love you for it.
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