His hair he said, is not soft like mine. I like it. The way it rushes through my fingers when i comb it gently to put him to sleep and even long after he had done so. I didn't like the cut i have to say when we first met but got better overtime. *wink
He doesn't like himself.
His lips he said, they're dry and chop, not plump neither pink. I like them. How discreetly full they are, how i wet them when we kiss and bite it a little, they're pink and soft in the morning. But i'd kiss them everyday even if it comes to our late years when it had thinned overtime.
He doesn't like himself.
His skin he said, has lots of blemishes, scars and dry. I like it. How relatively fair it is that it complements his brown eyes and strong ebony facial hair. The scars he condemns that tell alot of stories i had been interested to know over and over. His birthmarks and whatever's left of it, his identity. My life partner's identity.
He doesn't like himself he said.
NO BJ Pascual, NO Robi Domingo not even a Benjamin Alves in his physical waking. I like it. I like it that he is different from them. Not a hint of them in him. For he his just as admirable as he is. He is lovable as he is. He is mine, thankfully, as he is. Lucky me!
"Ang gwapo mo." Everyday, more often than once. Not out of obligation or false flattery as i am accused of every time. I said it as it is. I said every time, whiule looking more like staring actually at him. It isn't something i throw out in the air.
He never believed.. He doesn't believe.
These insecurities. These flaws. These little things.
They matter. They are what makes him the person i like.
I love.
Will unconditionally and tirelessly love for the rest of our lives.
