Day 2 — Your Crush

I presume my boyfriend counts as my crush? Whatever, boyfriend it is.

Dear A,
            You are quite possibly the most amazing person I've ever had the luck to meet. I'd call you perfect, but perfection in my eyes is fake, and of course, almost impossible to achieve. So you're imperfect, which makes you ten times more special and unique.
   I'd trust you with absolutely anything, including my life. I can talk to you about anything, no matter what it is, without feeling judged or worried that you might turn around and put a knife through my back. I guess this is because we're best friends as well as a couple, and no matter how much we bitch, scrap, fight or argue, we're still stuck together like glue. Cheesy cliché, I know, but it's true.
   We've had our bad times and we've had our good times, our weak times and our strong times. We've had times when all we can feel is anger against the other person, and we've also had times when the tears won't stop flowing (for me, anyway). But even though we've been through hell and back, we're still here. Together, and dare I say reasonably happy? I'm placing a question mark there simply because there's not a day that goes by without some kind of drama, big or small. That's just life though.
   You tell me I look amazing even when I've only had four hours sleep, I can't be arsed to brush my hair, I've got panda eyes and I'm still wearing my pyjamas. Now, either you've got psychological problems (well, you must have to be able to deal with me) or you must be blind to think that. Either way, to be complimented even when I look and feel like a right shizzle-bag is the loveliest thing in the world. If there were more guys out there that treated girls like you, the world would be much happier place, I'm telling you.
   I'll be frank with you; I'm difficult. I'm a moody, pescatarian, badass grammar Nazi who has an obsession for ice-cubes. I'd kill for a blueberry slushie. I read too much, enjoy acting like a smart-ass and I'm always semi-hyper. I doodle on anything and everything, including people. I hate snitches, supply teachers and my hair on a Monday morning. I love the tramp outside Tesco's, I have weird dreams about the Na'vi off Avatar (and other random shit), and I enjoy dancing down corridors singing; 'I whip my penis back & forth, back & forth!' at the top of my voice. Perhaps my one and only redeeming quality is that I'm insanely loyal. Or the fact that I am extremely flexible.
   But if anyone, and I mean anyone, can handle me... It's got to be you. You don't ever ask me to change, and you love me for who I am, mad tendencies and all. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

   I love you with every bone in my body.
   Love, K x

P.s; I promise you'll get a Christmas card this year.