It was love when I watched him work the room for two hours, and only shared six words with him. I was so nervous. It was love when we sat in his car blasting the heat, and he told me everything about himself. It was love when he started talking excitedly about existentialism once I brought up Albert Camus. It was love when I called him sobbing, and he talked me down, even though he was sick.
I denied it and denied it, but one night, after talking about how perfect our relationship was and how happy he was to have me, I couldn’t deny it anymore.
Postscript: Outside forces forced us apart, and he got back together with his ex a week later. This was 15 months ago, and I’m completely aware of how in love with him I was – and still am.
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