Vanessa

“I think I love Jeremy,” she said quietly, forcing herself to state the words simply, without hesitation. “I’ve no idea why,” she added, unable to help herself, “considering he’s vain and maddening and I can barely converse with him without wanting to stab him with a fork, but apparently that is what love looks like for me. And,” she added, her mind lingering on the look in his eye when he gazed at her sometimes, as though marveling at her very existence, “I think he might love me, too—though, being a man, I expect he’s too dense to realize it.”
― Martha Waters, To Love and to Loathe