You always love the way I romanticized you. Calling your imperfections glitters coating every inch of your body. Nibbling your lips like they’re delicate rose petals plastered on your prow. Touching your hair like perfectly-shaped snowflakes that needed to be held gingerly. And all you did in return is smile your pride and uplifted ego. You always love the idea that there are people who worship you. So you stayed with me—just because I am the one who worshipped you the most.