Loving him wasn’t perfect.
It was laughter followed by screaming and crying
With kisses and a few I’m-sorry’s.
Knuckles bruised from fights with smashed drywall or shattered glass but still a place for her hand to fit.
Arms marked with burns but still a place for her to lie.
Eyes watered with tears but still her favorite sight.
Lips that ask for help but still a place for her to kiss.
They felt passionately and strongly whether that was loving or fighting.
Although, it was in those moments of anger when she found the most love.
Seeing his tears tore her up
Seeing the beatings to the walls made her cringe.
His blood was as red as the love she felt for him.
It was all hard to comprehend but somewhere in her mind she knew fighting was loving
And it wasn’t perfect but she didn’t need it to be.
It was theirs and to her an “I’m sorry” was also an “I love you”.

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