I don't like your habits.

The way you quietly hum some tunes while you think that no one is home.

Or the way you read the same page in a book several times, the same sentence, the same word, just to remember it. 

Your way of using old-fashioned slang in your speech is so ridiculous.

It's also ridiculous that in the candy store you open boxes of marmalade and eat it while no one is looking, instead of just buying it.

Your habit of fixing your hair every minute annoys me. It's annoying that you constantly dye them black and white, you can't figure out which suits you better, and then you just cut them off and wait for them to grow back to dye them again.

Every time I accidentally look at you, you smile at me. I hate these moments.

When I don't wanna to talk to you, you buy me chocolates. I don't need it.

I hate your habit of meditating in the morning. I hate your habit of falling asleep on my shoulder on public transport. I hate it when we walk down the street and you discuss bushes, flowers, trees and how they are sheared.

I'm embarrassed that you always say "hi" to everyone. Even to strangers.

I am disgusted by your way of tugging at the silver ring in your ear when you are thoughtful.

And the way you twist your voice to make me laugh.

It's impossible to love you.