Real Or Imitation?

Like a picture in a frame he’s trapped in his own ways. More stubborn than a mouse after cheese, even if it’s in a trap. He spends all his money on his fixation like a child in a toy store. The smell of smoke soaks to his clothes like water to a sponge. As forgetful as an elderly person who is senile at times. With love in one hand and negligence in the other. His anger can strike fast like a cobra with no sign. He disappoints me more than he angers me. I always forgive him for his flaws and he makes it up to me. Sometimes he makes me feel like an obligation and others extraordinary. I want more than I’m getting but maybe I’m asking too much. Or maybe what I thought was real is covered by imitation.