There is no “most” or “thing,” but rather many romantic things.  A whole lifetime of them (or, more precisely, a little over a year and a half of them).

Handwritten letters in my college mailbox.  Heart-shaped Post-It notes on my desk when I walk into class (how they managed to appear there, on my exact desk exactly when I have class, over two hours from where he lives, I’ll never know).  Every Sanrio watch from various participating McDonald’s chains.  My favorite snacks in the grocery basket, even though they aren’t on the list.  Opening car doors (and all other doors).  Loving me so much and in so many ways, that it’s hard for me to choose just five every Friday.  Understanding that I eat frequently throughout the day, from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m.  Books!  Lots of books.  Real books and NOOKbooks.  And journals.  Lots of pretty journals.  Ordering for me at restaurants.  Reading my stories, even though they never end because I hate endings.  Good morning texts.  Good night phone calls.  Understanding that sometimes, roundabout stories are the best way to receive forthcoming answers, because I over-analyze everything.  Listening to my crazy dreams and not thinking that I need to be admitted.  Saying “I love you” multiple times daily.

Alan’s love makes me feel like the most blessed, loved woman in the world, makes me think that every other woman out there who claims the same has no idea what she’s talking about.  It also makes me wish that there were adequate words in the English language to describe exactly how much I love him.  I should probably create my own.

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