"You're attracted to someone for their good qualities,"
you told me once, "but you fall in love with their faults."
I was wallowing in self-loathing and pity, criticizing myself
for everything I could possibly think of, feeling absolutely
miserable. I told you I was scared-- no, terrified-- of you
being repulsed by these things the stupid boys in my past
listed while they yelled and screamed and I cried and cried.
"I love that you disown me because I don't know the
title of a Queens of the Stone Age album," you went on,
"because that's what makes you you. I love that you
have a 'potty mouth.' I love everything about you, Chel:
good and bad."
Oh, my darling -- and I love everything about you. Good and bad.
And, hell-- the bads are still good anyway.
I will love you forever.
I will love you always.
I will love you either way.