Disclaimer: I don't own it.
He's perfect. He's perfect in every way he shouldn't be, perfect in every way that I am not. He holds the door for me, doesn't interrupt, holds my hand when I'm feeling alone. He's beautiful and chiseled and strong. He's kind and sweet and sensitive to whatever I need. He's every girl's dream of the perfect man. He's the guy we all wish we could have, and he's mine. He gets me the most thoughtful gifts and the picks up on my every mood. He loves me. But even though he's perfect in all of those ways, none of it can make me love him back.
He's the opposite of perfect. He slacks off in ways he shouldn't, forces me to be the good example and the strength. He slams doors in my face, talks over me if he thinks his point is more important, pushes away my outstretched arms so he feels more alone. He's no one's idea of a classic beauty, and yet his eyes give him a sexiness all his own. He can be cruel and cynical and unless I look hard, I can't seem to find a part of him that truly cares about my feelings. He's the boy that every girl's father warns them against. He's the reason that so many girls come home crying and broken over and over again. He's the guy that your best friends hates, and she makes no secret about it. He's never gotten me a present, and he doesn't believe in celebrating anniversaries. He can't love himself, let alone anyone else. But even though he's a true disaster in all those ways, and even though I would be so much better off with the perfect boy, none of it can make my love for him and all his imperfections go away.