1. I hate the way you insist on having “unconventional opinions,” just because. I could say, “The sky is blue,” and you’d respond with a long-winded critique on how “blue is a societal construct” and that “color is subjective.”
2. I hate how you love everyone in an abstract, theoretical way, but will barely hold my hand in public because it’s too “performative.” You once told me you love humanity as a concept, and I can’t tell if I’m supposed to feel special or vaguely insulted.
3. I hate that when I talk about my feelings, you listen for a minute, nod, and then say, “Have you ever thought about it from the perspective of quantum mechanics?” I haven’t, actually. Not once.
4. I hate the way you’re always ready to take on a new cause, a new idea, a new crusade, and I’m just hoping you’ll be free this Saturday to actually go on a date instead of hosting an anti-capitalist film screening in your living room.
5. I hate that you treat love like a social experiment. I don’t know if I’m your partner, your friend, or your latest case study. “Let’s test our compatibility,” you said, as if we’re a pair of mismatched socks or a psychology survey.
6. I hate that you’re always looking beyond me, toward something bigger, something I can’t even see. It’s like you’re holding a part of yourself back, waiting for the next adventure, the next discovery, the next piece of life to fall into place. And I know, deep down, that no matter how much I love you, it will never be enough to anchor you here with me.
7. I hate that you’re so free. Because I know you’ll never be bound to me, not really. I love you, but I can’t hold you — not in the way I want to, not in the way that feels real. You’ll always belong more to the stars, to your dreams, to your wild, untamed spirit, than you ever will to me.
8. I hate the way you always have to be different. I’ll suggest a movie, and you’ll say, “Well, actually, there’s this rare indie film from Iceland about a telepathic cat that I think would be way more interesting.” Now we’re watching subtitles about feline existentialism, and somehow, I’m just… here for the ride.
9. I hate that you give your opinions as if they’re groundbreaking discoveries. “Did you know that reality is subjective?” you say, as if you just cracked the biggest secret in the universe. Yes, love, we all went through that phase in high school, but you somehow manage to bring it up at least once a week.
10. I hate the way you always have to “detach” to gain perspective. I’ll ask, “How do you feel about us?” and you’ll say, “I just need a little space to analyze that.” Analyze?! I was hoping for a kiss, not a peer-reviewed journal article on your “emotional alignment.”

But mostly, I hate that I can’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all. I hate that, with all your chaos, contradictions, and confusing ideologies, I still look at you and think, “This is my favorite weirdo.” Because somehow, you’ve made me love all the odd, eccentric, maddening parts of you. Because somehow, in all your cosmic detachment and slightly obsessive quest for self-betterment, you’ve made my life extraordinary.

You’re infuriatingly perfect in a way only you could ever be. And no matter how many crises we go through, I’ll keep choosing you — my beautiful, baffling Aquarian perfectionist.

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