the cheese stands alone

The Requisite Overly Metaphorical Valentine

The GM1 and I continually have mini-discussions that ponder the whys and wherefores of our relationship. Most of the time he claims bewilderment at why I am with the likes of him, and I express surprise that he's lowered his standards so much to accept me. We live in the constant and ongoing denial that we are good enough for each other.
I think of it like this: when we met, it was like the final karmic trainwreck in our lives, the one moment we'd been driving like drunken moonshine runners toward, careening headlong and heedlessly to the destiny of crashing recklessly into each others' lives. And after we picked each other up, scarred and bleeding, and then healed each other, such a miracle never ceased to amaze. So we constantly peek under the bandaid that is our relationship, watching the progress of the ever-healing wound.
Love is our scab, and we pick at it constantly.
Happy Valentine's Day, GM1.
(Maybe I haven't made myself clear... well, to judge from a few emails taking me to task, I must not have. I meant all this, from drunken wrecks to scabs, as a GOOD thing. So please, Mr. Jason Radison, you clueless bastard, stop sending me bible quotations and phone numbers to marriage counselors. Geez.)