Well, I could, but seriously – what good would it do?
You say goofy things, you do goofy things, sometimes you’re a bitter pill to take and you’re hard to get along with. Sometimes you’re downright antisocial – unkind even, because of your pain – intolerant, impatient, frankly a bit of a bitch.
But I still love you. I still see what first drew me to you and I live in hope that all that other muck will settle and disappear forever. I live in hope that you will conquer your sadness at what you think the world has given you, that you will address it and find a way through. I live in hope that you will fix what ails you – that you will paint that little wagon red again, that you will grease your wheels and for heaven’s sake stop all your squeaking!
Anyway, no: I can’t stay mad at you.
For you, the door is always open. So please – come on in.