I heard about this theory;
that in the perfect couple,
One will like olives, and the other will not.
One will always eat for the other.
I think that's why we never worked,
You proudly shouted your love for the salted fruit,
While I, meekly, passed mine to you.
You convinced that only you could possibly like them.
And I, well. I simply did not.
It wasn't until the end, the end of us;
That I placed the smooth, round, morsel in my mouth.
And I chewed.
And I smiled.
I love olives.