"I love you" is one of those very tricky phrases. Throughout my life, I've had a variety of men tell me that same thing. It took me a long time to realize that none of them actually meant it. The first one "loved" me because I gave up my virginity to him. The second said it, not because he actually loved me; instead he saw an inherent weakness in me that he could exploit. That guy abused me heavily for seven long, painful years. The one after him? Talked about how he loved me, but what he loved was the idea of having an all-the-time free lay and a slave to clean his house.
It wasn't until I met K that I finally found out what real love was. Beforehand, I merely accepted it, and only said it back because it was the "polite thing" to do. I never really felt it. Factually, I didn't even know what love was, what it looked or felt like. Now that I have something to compare it to, it's so easy to see how shallow all the other relationships of my past were. In looking back, too, it makes me appreciate what I have now even more.
It wasn't until I met K that I finally found out what real love was. Beforehand, I merely accepted it, and only said it back because it was the "polite thing" to do. I never really felt it. Factually, I didn't even know what love was, what it looked or felt like. Now that I have something to compare it to, it's so easy to see how shallow all the other relationships of my past were. In looking back, too, it makes me appreciate what I have now even more.
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