he's perfect for me. this list could be infinite. he knows what i'm thinking. he knows what to say. he knows me. if god said to me, "right, i'm here to build you the perfect person, all you gotta do is ask" he is everything i'd want, plus all the bits i would forget to say. i feel like he's too good for me but he won't let me say that. he's stopped me smoking. stopped me drinking to escape. helped me quit abusing prescription drugs and smoking weed. he's one of the reasons my bulimia isn't coming back. he worries about me when i hurt myself, which i'm trying not to do, because i don't deserve to be worried over. i don't mind when i wake up next to him with my hair a mess and no makeup. he talked me down from suicide and didn't think any less of me the morning after. he's the only person who has ever made me orgasm. he doesn't make me feel bad for my less-than-pure history. he makes amazing tea. he knows politics and books and grammar and he texts me good night. he listens to my rants about feminism. he is the first person who has really treated me right, and is actually good for me. he said he loves me even if i don't bother to shave my legs or pluck my eyebrows. he endures constant ribbing off his mates for the fact i'm not quite yet sixteen. he kisses my forehead. he lets me watch disney films and sing the songs. he plays me piano. he puts up with me talking in harry potter quotes even though he's never read any of them. when i see skinny girls and i wish and i nearly cry he holds my hand tighter and tells me i'm beautiful. we have real conversations, he makes me better but i don't know what it is about me that's holding him and that thought makes me cry because i never want to lose him.
i'm not going to see him until a week tomorrow.
i am not going to be a happy bunny.
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