I accepted your love without much thought, and at first, it was all fuzzy and warm which I enjoyed.
Eventually, I started to doubt the quick decision I made as things began to change up to the point where it reached uncomfort.
It felt wrong, and incomplete. I couldn't feel the warmth I used to experience.
I kept blaming you for your shortcomings--failing to show me that you love me more and all those unnecessary acts I wanted you to do.
But even when you did them, I felt nothing. Was I wrong? Am I the one with shortcomings?
At that point I realized, I've been looking at myself too much. I wasn't able to appreciate all of the things you did for me, no matter how small.
So, I started viewing our relationship differently where it focused on both of us--not just me.
I learned to notice and value you for yourself and every little thing you did. Like, cooking for me, and walking me home.
From that point on, I kept thinking about you more until I missed you every time we would part ways.
I understood how you felt when I suddenly said that I needed to leave because of things to do. Though that was because of the uncomfort and selfishness I had.
I wamted to see you so badly each time you weren't by my side and I'd be the happiest when you were with me.
I treasured the walks we had as you accompanied me home, and the sweet words of encouragement you always said when I was feeling down.
Thank you for being who you are and for being patient with me. If you hadn't waited and endured, I wouldn't have discovered these hidden feelings.
Really, I didn't know that I loved you. So. Damn. Much.