You are, the only exception.

The lover stood before me with that look in his eyes. The look--waiting for signs, searching, asking for forgiveness. I gave him a blank stare. But in my mind, all I could really think of was how he looked cute in his pink shirt (but not with those pants), though I always say it's a gay color. The color suits him well. All the time.

Fast forward to dawn. I was awakened by the chill in the room. It was particularly cold that day, and I was shivering even if the AC was turned off. I searched for the lover's arms and laid my head on his chest. And there I was enclosed in his warmth. He brushed my hair with his fingers, uttered something I wasn't able to apprehend. Then he kissed my head.

There were lullabies singing, lulling me to sleep. But all I could think of was how he looked cute in pink.

(It has always been the lover's magic, to make me forget. That despite all the madness I have kept inside me, all I could think of is how good he looked in pink.)