There is this thin red line between loving you and the urge to throw a glass to your head.
You, whose nose wrinkle everytime my friedrice (my one and only dish I can make you) gets too salty.
You, who always kiss me gently every single night before we go to sleep
You, who always pick the opposite football team to my favorite team. We know you are not into football. You just need to tease me.
You, who get tired of my constant whining about why we can’t get a bigger house, why do our car keeps breaking down everytime we use it. It’s funny at first. But it’s tiring after some time, you know?
You, who stop talking, asking, and kissing.
There is this thin red line between loving me and hating me, you say. And then you left.