I told you I hated my eyes, and you told me they felt like home.
I told you I hated the stretch marks, and you kissed them lovingly.
I told you I hated my hair, and you played with it until the sun came up.
I told you I thought there was something wrong with me, and you whispered all the things that are right with me.
I told you I wanted to die, and you gave me a reason to live.