Waking up, I see your face; it's the first thing that I saw before I fell into a deep sleep the previous night. You're sitting on the edge of my bed with your dark chocolate hair swept to the side and your emerald green eyes resting softly on my sleepy form. You're sitting on the edge of my bed watching me rub the sleep from eyes, but I know you're not really there.
"Did I ever tell you that you snore?" he comments, shifting slightly. When he moved, the sheets over my body tugged slightly. "I mean, like, freight-train loud snoring. It's insane...your nose does this weird little twitching thing, and then your mouth--"
I hate it when he mentions my mouth.
"You're still here, eh?" I inquire as I sit up, not caring that the thin strap of my shirt fell off of my shoulder.
"Of course," he replies. "Where else would I be?" Not waiting for a reply from me, he comments, "You should eat some breakfast. It's not good for you to skip it."
"I hate you," I murmur.
And I mean it. I really, really do.
He merely smiles his handsome smile and begins to hum our song. "Only Fools Rush In" by Elvis Presley never got on my nerves so much until he hummed it.

An hour later, I am tugging a green sweater over my head and attempting to fix my matted caramel mane. He's standing in the corner of my room, smiling quietly as he watches me brush my hair.
"Why don't you wear the sweater I bought you for Christmas?" he asks me. "The pink one with the white lines on the sleeves..."
"I know what it looks like," I snap, watching his reflection in my mirror. "And I got rid of that sweater three months ago..."
"Oh," he says quietly, a solemn frown crossing his beautiful features.
When he frowns, he looks deformed. He was born to smile and shine.
"Your keys are on the kitchen counter," he mutters as I exit my room with an angry look in my blue-grey eyes. He follows close behind, like a lost puppy or a child.
"Whatever," I murmur, snatching my keys off of the counter.
We walk outside, and I was too late at slamming the door in his face. He was already outside before I even thought of the idea. Walking down the driveway, I sigh quitely to myself as I spy him in the corner of my eyes. He's squinting up at the sun and smiling that stupid boyish grin as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his bluejeans.
"Doesn't that look like my car?" he asks, nodding at a red convertible that drives down the street before it turns a corner and disappears from sight.
"I hated that car," I say. That's not true. I love that car; I only hate it when he is in it.

Thirty minutes later I am driving down the street in my crappy white car. Actually, it's more of a dirty brown because it has not been washed since I got it. He is sitting in the front seat, which I hate, because I hate having to sit next to him. The radio is off, and I can tell it bothers him. He's doing that annoying thing he does when he gets fidgetty; the whole leg shaking thing and tapping his fingers on the armrest. Lord, I wanted to smack him.
"I saw you at the mall the other day," I comment, immediately regretting my words. "You didn't see me, though."
"Really?" he says, interested immediately. "I'm sorry about that, love. You know I think about you all the ti--"
"I'm not sorry," I reply. "I ducked into the maternity store before you had the chance to see me."
"I wish you hadn't have done that," he says as I cross over a railroad track.
"You don't even know the difference," I spit, growing even more irritated with him.
"Why? Because you can't let go?" he comments calmly. Looking over to me, his emerald eyes bore into my grey orbs. I hate the way he looks at me. He looks at me with such love and adoration in his eyes. "Because you imagine me wherever you are because you can't get me out of your head..."
"Then let's change the game," I murmur to no one certainly. "Because I really don't like this one."
"I love you," he says. And I know he means it. He really, really does.
"You're not really there," I say quietly, and rather sadly.
"Then stop imagining that I am..."
I try. I try to imagine him gone. Turning a corner, I glance over to him, doing my very best to convince myself that I am the only one in my car--because, well, I am. No use, though. He's sitting there next to me, watching me with his ocean eyes, with a foolish grin plastered over his handsome face as he sang "Only Fools Rush In" to me.