Why can't I get enough of you, get bored, like I do with other people? It's not like you're something so extraordinary, you're aren't my mind double, you aren't my polar opposite either. In fact we're very similar and yet very different, I can't decide what's more dominant- our parallelisms or our stark polarities?
I need constant approval and compliments but you're too impenetrable to say what you feel.
You can't resist challenges, but I'm already an open book.
Both of us bore easily of people and places, yet we've surprisingly stuck together for a long time.
My favourite pastime is to whine and you can't stop poking fun at me for that.
Both of us hate possessiveness, but strangely enough are fiercely possessive of each other and what's even stranger is that neither of us seem to mind it.
I have major major space issues, yet I can't get enough of you, I can't even conceive the idea of pushing you away.
You're a born genius, I've read my way to ingenuity.
You're too focused on bigger pictures, I'm too preoccupied reveling in the minute to even consider the bigger picture for a half-second.
We're both too egoistic and self-preservative to make the first move, yet things take on a shockingly quick pace with us.
You're experienced, have been there done that for practically everything. Calling me even a novice is an over-estimation.
I'm annoyingly rational, logical and pragmatic, yet there isn't an iota of practicality and realism in what I have with you.
I hate presumptuous, tongue-in-cheek humor, but to you, being cocky is like breathing.
You can't stop cursing and making snide comments about me, yet you spend all day and all night talking to me.
You hate it when people understand, 'get' you and have you 'figured out', but I had you psycho-analysed to the T before letting myself get this attached to you.
Predictability is your worst nightmare, yet I know what you're going to do or say before you have a chance to put it in action.
You hate it when I don't pay attention to what you're saying, yet I've been writing this the whole time while you tell your stupid story.
We both sulk at the smallest of things, but yet can't not talk to each other for longer than like, a day.
You find solace in the comfort of your defences, not realizing that I can see through all of them because they're all of mine, too.
You make me happy. Like really happy. You addictive, addictive man.
I need constant approval and compliments but you're too impenetrable to say what you feel.
You can't resist challenges, but I'm already an open book.
Both of us bore easily of people and places, yet we've surprisingly stuck together for a long time.
My favourite pastime is to whine and you can't stop poking fun at me for that.
Both of us hate possessiveness, but strangely enough are fiercely possessive of each other and what's even stranger is that neither of us seem to mind it.
I have major major space issues, yet I can't get enough of you, I can't even conceive the idea of pushing you away.
You're a born genius, I've read my way to ingenuity.
You're too focused on bigger pictures, I'm too preoccupied reveling in the minute to even consider the bigger picture for a half-second.
We're both too egoistic and self-preservative to make the first move, yet things take on a shockingly quick pace with us.
You're experienced, have been there done that for practically everything. Calling me even a novice is an over-estimation.
I'm annoyingly rational, logical and pragmatic, yet there isn't an iota of practicality and realism in what I have with you.
I hate presumptuous, tongue-in-cheek humor, but to you, being cocky is like breathing.
You can't stop cursing and making snide comments about me, yet you spend all day and all night talking to me.
You hate it when people understand, 'get' you and have you 'figured out', but I had you psycho-analysed to the T before letting myself get this attached to you.
Predictability is your worst nightmare, yet I know what you're going to do or say before you have a chance to put it in action.
You hate it when I don't pay attention to what you're saying, yet I've been writing this the whole time while you tell your stupid story.
We both sulk at the smallest of things, but yet can't not talk to each other for longer than like, a day.
You find solace in the comfort of your defences, not realizing that I can see through all of them because they're all of mine, too.
You make me happy. Like really happy. You addictive, addictive man.
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