That is what love is

I hand him the pathetic me on a plate:
the clingy, demanding, hot-tempered
version of myself, gift-wrapped in
insecurities. And he opens his arms,
closes his eyes, cradles my
stubbornness like a child, and kisses
me blindly. That is what love does,
he says, that is w h a t l o v e i s.

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