But it’s the little things, like your nickname for me, and how you talk about me when I’m not around.
It’s how you talk to me like you’ve never done with anyone else.
It’s how you pull my hair, and lower my chair, and trace your fingers with mine when you hand me your lighter.
It’s how you hug me when you’re proud, and how your eyes glisten when you look at me.
It’s the crook in your curious smile, and your worrisome looks that speak more than your wise words ever could.
It’s how you know more about me than anyone else cared to try and learn. You somehow know more about me than I do myself.
It’s how you calm me when I’m anxious, and distract me when my mind is going a thousand miles a minute.
It’s how you treat me like I’m a person.
It’s how you listen to my music and my rambles, remember obscure things I’ve mentioned once, and keep my pictures on your phone.
It’s how you stand up for me when others speak ill of me.
You are more compassionate, more considerate, and more gentle than anyone I’ve ever met—let alone dated.
It’s all of these things and so much more.