She only likes her tongue. I couldn't, and still can't, wrap my mind around it. Of all the things that make her beautiful, that's the only thing she likes. Maybe I'm just surprised because, frustrating as it may be, I haven't gotten to know it. But that's beside the point.
How does she find fault in those green (not brown) eyes that light up with a story? Why does she see flaws in her freckles, which make her that much more inviting? Tell me how she takes offense in her unbrushed hair, which can only nearly be as tangled as a little boys heart strings. Where is her affection for that rare, precious, smile, which always starts a second? When will she love her soprano sneezes and sonorous snorts, her short legs and long kilts, tired eyes and spirited soul?
