Her: “What do you love about me?”
Him: “Well… I love everything about you!”

I love that you'd probably scoff at me
If I gave you some clichéd response,
Like, "I love everything about you,"
On some basic boyfriend shit.
But I've never failed to take you in.
So that question is easy to answer,
I only need to tell the truth,
My thoughts in no particular order,
And I love that you love the way my mind works.

I love the jokes you tell in a group,
Those that some don't laugh at,
And others don't hear,
For no fault of your own.
I make an effort to listen, and I laugh,
Because I love that you make an effort
To make friends, to be part of the group—
Not in a pathetic way, but in a way that's genuine,
Like I could bring you anywhere
And introduce you as my girl.
With pride, and you’d get on just fine.

I love how you frequently touch up your lips,
With that orange-tinted lip gloss
(“Its not orange. This is the same one I always use”)
Going just beyond the border of your top lip,
By one quarter of a centimeter,
Perfectly, every time.
I love your glowing complexion in bar light.
I think you've had one pimple since we met.
(Top right forehead, my right)
I like your soft makeup, barely there.
Your eyebrows, even if filled in.
Your eyelashes, long, mascara softly clumped,
While the kid on the scooter asks if you’re my girl.
I like that your feet look big in Converse.
The things that make you, just as you are.
And your name.
Denise.

I love getting lost in your eyes,
For moments, and evenings,
For entire concerts.
Finding a new world,
In the deep, and forgetting the world I was in.
Amber brown,
Dancing like diamonds.
Infinite.
I love the gradual, rounded slope of your nose—my fav.
I love the freckle in your left nostril (my left)
And the one on your chin, slightly off-center.
I can even see them in pictures now.
These things that make you you.

I love that you love cats,
Like love love cats.
I admire your fake "meow,"
I love meowing together,
(Yes, meowing together)
Like down the stairway, from the rooftop,
In the North End, after the bartender poured us a shot,
because we make a cute couple.
Or I tipped well.
I like that you can appreciate small acts of kindness.
I like that you feel things.

You have such a pretty face,
Such a pleasant quality to you, almost indescribable.
But when you come into view, from the bowling alley hallway,
Or around the corner, or at the bookstore, it’s there.
I love your soft smile, and your real smile, (rarer in photos)
And your dainty, perfectly white teeth.
But most of all, I love your uncontrollable smile,
The exploding one, coupled with laughter,
Where your face scrunches up,
And you pull away slightly,
Covering your mouth,
Blushing a little. (if you could)
I love that.
I even loved your Hinge profile, despite my jealousy,
Because it’s truly lost on you
Just how lovely you are.

I love dressing up for you.
And I love that you compliment my style,
And in a world that is coarse,
You always allow me to be delicate.
To be free.
I love that I feel like myself with you,
More than I ever have before, ever.
I feel most sexy and confident
Walking together hand in hand with you.
And I like your jeans (both pairs).
I like that you always look nice when we're together;
That you always put in the effort.
I love you on my arm.
I love you in black.
In an oversized hoodie, or sweater,
Even with leggings.

I love that you didn't really kiss me kiss me,
Until you kissed me.
I love the way we kissed,
When you finally did, in the car.
You sat in the driver's seat that day.
I love the way you hold back, and the slow burn.
You have a way of driving me absolutely crazy.
I love that our first kiss was in a strip club (lol),
And we made a friend. (Networking 101)
I love that you broke the rules that night
(even rarer than the tooth smile),
And how innocently you did,
In a way that's entirely you:
Open, warm, and full of wonder—
Equal parts tipsy and beautiful,
And maybe even trying to impress me (just a little).
I love that I just drove you home that night.
And we didn’t hook up.
I even love that you lied about it in "Never have I ever."

I loved our meet-cute
At Alcove.
I love that we locked eyes instantly
And never really let go after that.
Not completely.
You had a Cobb salad that day.
I like that you don't eat much—
But you'll make room for martinis,
And oysters,
And sometimes coke.
Because, fuck getting fat.
Am I right?

I love that you did what other salespeople could never do.
I love that you came to the networking event that night at Cloud and Spirits,
That you invited me to the Celtics parade,
And I couldn’t go, but you met me the next day.
That you bought me a jersey at the Sox game,
And defended my honor.
I love the way you bite when you do.
I love that you got dressed in the car for mk.gee,
And you waited for my friends to leave before cursing me out.
Calculated and complimentary,
To my whirlwind of poorly chosen words,
And fits of rage.

I love how we never once had bad service
At a bar or restaurant.
Maybe because you bring out my charismatic side
(Don't call me sweetheart—exception, not the rule),
Or perhaps those accompanied by beautiful girls get better service,
Or maybe I was just too locked into your eyes
To notice the world around us.
To ever notice a drink coming too late.
Like the bourbon you sometimes ordered,
Even if it was for some douchebag.
I love that you don't want to be a bad person.
Because you’re not, Denise.

I love your touch.
I fell hard when you embraced me next to the trash,
It had been so long since someone brushed up against
My lonely soul.
I like the feel of your skin, so soft and smooth,
I love breathing you in by the nape of your neck—
You by my chest.
Pulling gently at your hair,
The scent of hemp lotion, and off-brand Target body spray,
That could never smell the same on anyone else but you.
I like to trace both your half-moon tattoos,
When you're vulnerable,
Your skin adorned by thick gauge needle,
Just like my tattoos from Visible Ink in Malden.
I like your long, delicate fingers,
The way your hand feels in mine,
You on the right, always on the right.
I see you as a woman.
You’re perfect, and the rest goes without saying,
Without cheap words.

I love you for following through on your flip-phone phase.
I like that your passenger-side window doesn't open,
And your car is a mess, with the scent of perfume and weed.
I loved our late-night drives,
The sad song playlists, a pop music summer.
The city, and your home.
I loved our dates before and after poetry class.
I especially loved our date in the park under the tree.
You even made me love the Seaport.
And our little bar hop:
- Davio’s (it’s cute you take clients there now)
- Committee (patio sometimes closed)
- Serafina (cabaret sometimes followed)
I loved the day I gave you flowers, in the garden,
And you let me fumble through the worst Instagram date
of all time,
Only to end up making out on the patio at Lolita’s
Over several margaritas, and several confessions,
All while the waitstaff laughed at us.

I loved the way you craved
McDonald’s french fries that night,
After I admitted I loved you in the park,
In much fewer words then,
After kissing you on the tree branch,
And some shirtless karaoke.
You smelled sweet, like sweat that night.
I loved you so much I dropped my Big Mac,
In the car ride home,
Sad, after we said goodbye (first time).
I loved that we took the time to break up,
Even though we were never dating.

I love that no one understood us,
Not the therapists, or the sisters,
I loved that it was special to me and you,
And nearly impossible to explain.
I love that you turned me into a Swiftie,
And asked if I'd heard of Noah Kahan.
(30.5M listeners per month)
I love sharing memes with you,
Even if our sense of humor isn't exactly the same.
It’s the payoff; I love making you laugh;
It feels like winning the lottery.
I love how you can tell right away if I'm nervous.
I love how you try to calm me down in your passive way—
Maybe that's just you—
When I can't hit a shot at the fair
Or I'm speaking too loudly at the table.
You can't control me, but I love that you tried.

I even love stupid little things.
You in an oversized sweatshirt, paired with leggings.
I love how you sat cross-legged and read a book while I played basketball in the park.
I love how the little kids asked if you were my girlfriend.
(Love and basketball. <3)
I love your quick little jumpy movements, like a squirrel.
I like how you say "Whuuut?" with your "bro voice."
I like how you say "Nooooo," like an Aussie,
And your whiny voice when you get mad or overwhelmed.
I'm envious of your emotions always in control.
You never yell.

I especially love the purpose you put into things.
How you want to be a great salesperson.
I love how you want to be good to those who are good to you.
I know you’d be the perfect fucking girlfriend.
I love that your go-to recipe is made with heavy cream.
I like how you give head like you googled "how to give good head." lol
You probably hate how I go down on you, like from a textbook;
I've lost some things along the way too, sweetheart.
I like that you don't come easily, at least not with me,
And that you feel more comfortable with a sweatshirt on,
And that you put your top on right after sex,
Because I'm self-conscious too, but a little less with you.
I love that everything feels real with you,
Even sometimes when it’s off,
Because when it’s on,
it’s earth shattering.

I love how imperfect I am with you,
And how much harder I want to try for you.
I wanted to be perfect for you.
I wanted to honor, love, and protect you
Because you deserve it.
And I love that you made me feel like I deserve that too.
Someone who would protect my soul
Without suffocating it, letting it breathe.
I love the way you make me feel,
Like I was somehow always this way,
Never having lived all those moments outside the sun.
Never having lost those decades.
I feel kind, and generous, compassionate, and creative,
And more like myself than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I feel comfortable in my own skin with you.
I don't see someone ugly in the mirror.
My trauma is whisper quiet, my head to your shoulder
I love that you made me feel free,
And my confidence, unstoppable, with your love behind me.
I don't see anything in any other woman anymore.
The bartender told me she could help me forget you,
But there's no way she could,
Because I only have eyes for you, sweetheart.

And those are just a few things I love about you.

- Adam

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