He does everything.

Everything, he does for me.

He thinks he has done his best to take care of me.

And wonder why I still complain and always ask for more.

He does everything.

Every thing, he does for me.

Yet, he forgets to love me.

To touch my face and my hair gently, and to tell me he loves me.

To admire me and to praise me the small good things I have done. 

He says he feels tired and gets to feel tired of me.

He says he is at the edge of collapse.

He says he doesn't like the hair on the floor.

He says he does so much.

And he forgets love.