He had a fancy for veracity;
I lied to myself everyday.
And yet.
He loved me all the same.

He had a liking of smiles;
I cried buckets everyday.
And yet.
He loved me all the same.

He had a fondness for beauty;
I scarred my skin everyday.
And yet.
He loved me all the same.

He had a taste for sweetness;
I grew more bitter everyday.
And yet.
He loved me all the same.

He had a penchant for courage;
I hid behind masks everyday.
And yet.
He loved me all the same.

Perhaps I had lucked out,
Or perhaps he had a habit of helping
Crumbling, weeping girls,
Because despite being nothing like him-
Whole, beautiful, normal;
He still loves me all the same.