Little Bit.

You're loud. And it's fucking annoying. You have this tendency to shout as if you have headphones on and coincidentally, in the most inconvenient places, such as restaurants. Speaking of restaurants, you fidget. I thought it was cute the first few times we went out, actually it was more so that you fed my arrogance; you see, I thought you would fidget because you were nervous, when actually you have the attention span of a three year old. It is actually quite impressive that a grown woman can only sit still for about three minutes before she begins to fidget. You liked Twilight, Dane Cook amuses you, Circus was your favorite album of last year, and your dad hates me.

But you make me smile. Not like your normal smile, like smile into your hands kind of smile. The type that makes you looks stupid so you have to cover up type of smile. You listen to me rant about capitalism and racism and sexism and all the other isms that I have problems with. You listen quietly and patiently without interrupting; nodding and smiling, acknowledging what I have to say, even though you only asked "How my day was?" And you take me by the hand, as if to pull me back into reality where people don't actually care about my preaching, and you kiss me and tell me everything will work out and the bad guys will eventually leave; and for a split second I truly believe it. I like the way you look at me, the way your face turns red when I kiss you in public, how you laugh at my terrible jokes; plus the sex ain't half bad. And I think I'm a little bit, just a little bit, in love with you.