My biggest fear isn’t that you’ll lie to me one day or that you’ll cheat on me. My biggest fear is that you’ll wake up before me one Labor Day weekend and instead of leaning in and kissing me on the cheek, you’ll look at my sleeping body and start to notice all of my flaws. My big head and slight butt-chin, my damaged lips from biting them and inadequate height. You’ll think about my random spouts of sensitivity and the fact that I wear my heart on my sleeve and open up about everything but still remain modest about some things. You’ll remember how annoying I can be, over-protective and going too far to try to please and make you comfortable. You’ll walk into the kitchen, brew a cup of black coffee, stare at the pale morning rays of sunlight entering the window frame, and come to the conclusion, that for no particular reason at all, you don’t love me anymore.