I knew I liked you when you told me that your dog (a non-swimmer) decided to take a dip in your sister’s pool, so you had to jump in fully clothed and save him because you ended the story with an “eye-roll” emoji.
But I knew I was falling in love with you when you brought him back ice cream (specially made for dogs) and told me your dream of having a fenced-in yard for your “little man” to run around and play in.
And I knew I liked you when you learned my real name and didn’t laugh or tease me about it, even though you agreed it was a little “old lady” sounding. You said it was beautiful because I was “your old lady.”
But I knew I loved you when I read your first love letter and saw at the top of the page that you’d addressed it to Margaret Rosemary.
And I knew I liked you when you used the very sophisticated technique of measuring hand sizes to hold mine for the first time.
But I knew I loved you, when you held my shaking hand on the way to your sister’s front door, the first time I met your family.
And I knew I liked you when you stayed up with me on FaceTime for Taylor Swift’s release of Midnights.
But I knew I loved you when we first fought over FaceTime, and you didn’t hang up, but reluctantly gave me the space I needed. You would choose to sit in an awkward state of tension if it meant being with me.
Most of all, I knew I loved you when you saw me break for the first time, then a second time and every time after that, and you held me until I could piece myself back together again.