It all survived. The way I love...
The indentations on your bottom lip from where you bite it when you are nervous.
The space between your two front teeth your retainer refuses to retain.
The callouses on your hands that cut into mine at the movie theater on 3rd.
The two hairs that stick up in the front of your head, no matter how much gel you use.
The sweat the drips down your face anytime we walk the uneven streets of Bed-Stuy.
I love it all, and I always will, no matter how many times to attempt to murder it.
You can murder your own love for me; trash me to our old friends, smoke the cigars I always hated, claim ownership of the bars in Williamsburg we used to haunt, leave our polaroids cut up on my stoop.
You can murder your own love for me, but you can never, ever murder mine for you.
I love you.