Before I start: yes, I did love him, and a lot of me still does. I will do no injustice to my feelings by denying them, regardless of how I've been hurt.

So often, even outside of love, we look for capital-A Amazing things. We look for the Grand Gestures. The bouquet of roses. Double rainbows. Triple rainbows! The extraordinary pieces of art. The thousand-page novels. But how excited do we get over dandelions, which are mere weeds? Rainbows? Kindergarten doodles? Books like Gus is a Bug?

Does it occur to you that we could get excited over them? (And I mean, truly, truly excited over the little things: not just the fake kind of excited so your little cousin thinks you think the doodle is a work of art. Like, actually trulylegitimatelygenuinely happy about that doodle.)

You could see that dandelion and revel in the coming of spring. You could make a wish, just for the hell of it. You could experience the marvel of surviving winter and anticipate the warmer weather. You could think about how wow, isn't it amazing how those trees bloom like that, every year, without fail and man, wouldn't it be great to emerge so beautifully after such cold, dark days? AND DUDE, HOW FUN IS IT TO RUN THROUGH A FIELD OF DANDELIONS? DON'T YOU FEEL SO MAGICAL AND HIPSTER AND GREAT? 

People so rarely do that with love. They want the Grand Gestures. They want the bouquet of roses. They want the floating-up-of-gifts-to-window. They want the writing on the stage: "GO TO GRAD WITH ME?" They want the fiery, burning passion. They get so excited about first kisses and then they forget to appreciate every single one that follows... 

(Do you think that the kisses that follow are not as amazing? Not as beautiful? Because you're wrong.)

Love is never day-to-day. Love is never mundane. Love is never static. It never was to me, and it still isn't. Love doesn't work like the stocks do, where the prices must be going up, since they just hit an all time low. Passion does not swing up and down. Passion isn't... well, passive. :) I don't believe you need to ever take a step away to appreciate a person.

"Don't you get bored?" you said to me once. You asked me how you could keep that going, seeing each other every day, going everywhere and seeing everything. How could you not get bored?

Because for me, at least...

Even if I was simply holding his hand, if we were silent, if we were just walking, I would realize that I was holding his hand. I would pay attention to how it felt. I would tighten my grip on his fingers briefly, and he would squeeze my fingers back, sometimes just out of habit, and then my butterflies woke up. You're holding his hand.

Because making him laugh still was something to be proud of, to the very end. Because I felt most comfortable in his arms, because I fit there. Because he taught me new things constantly, opening my eyes to the terrible beauty of the universe and teaching me to come to terms with it.

Because you see, I was so amazed by even the littlest things. The littlest of things!

Can you imagine how I felt at Disneyland, when he bought food for me because I didn't feel like leaving the hotel room? And when I was in the shower and didn't respond to his knock, he presumed I left, so he gave the food away? But when I emerged, still hungry, he bought yet more food for me even though I could have bought it myself?

Can you imagine how I felt during that same trip, when I complained about the group we were travelling with, and he offered it just to be the two of us? And then he actually let it just be the two of us?

Can you imagine how I felt when he walked me home the opposite direction from his own house every day, without fail? When he helped me deliver papers, free of charge?

Can you imagine how I felt the day I had to stay at school on a day I had to deliver papers? And he offered to do it for me? And it was raining? And he got to my house and realized my dog had to go out, so he did it for me?

So how could I be bored? How could I think love to be day-to-day? How could I think it mundane? How could I think it as static?

You could argue that it was not reciprocated, and if you are thinking that, then as my friend, I'd like to ask you to not to presume. Because all you saw, see, and ever will see of what my relationship was? It's what I choose to show you. It's what he chooses to show you. You could not in a million years of study know what my relationship was like any more than I do. 

And even if it weren't reciprocated, I would choose to love as fully and deeply as I did and get hurt again and again over to love in fear, with boundaries and restrictions and not let myself be amazed by the little things.