I still remember the first time you called me beautiful and how the scars on my face didn’t matter.
Every single crenulation is important. All those scars and dimples and obscene holes are a part of the whole. To blatantly state that some part of a person “doesn’t matter” is to show ignorance of the worst kind. Picking and choosing the best parts while playing down the less favorable qualities only serves to satisfy immediate needs. There is no future in such thinking. One must embrace all aspects of one’s supposed love, whether they’re beautiful or hideous or somewhere in between.
That moment was perfect, until you told me you were in love with someone else.
You see what I mean.