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Your petrichor against my florentyna would make a perfect scent.
My squeaky mezzo soprano and your deep basso profondo would create a perfect harmony.
Your thick eyebrows and my slightly slanted eyes will make a perfect window of the world.
My lactose intolerant will be perfect together with your temperature sensitivity.
Your needy act is fulfilled with the fact that I'm so motherly.
And with our brain together, working side by side? Impossible to defeat.

It's just that things change, and won't be the same anymore. It's no longer about you and me, or us, but it's about them, and she and him. The thing is, waiting for you tire me, as if I have no other thing to do, yet it's all I do at the end. So forgive me for not letting you go, after all this time, but all I want is another thick eyebrows, kickass smart, needy and perfect guy to bear me flowers and rub my head during my meltdowns.