It didn't start the way people expect things like this to start.
No instant spark. No dramatic moment where everything shifted and suddenly you were all I could see.
It was quieter than that.
You were just…there.
Familiar before you ever became important. Easy to talk to, easier to ignore—at least in the beginning. We existed in the same spaces, shared the same air, the same passing conversations that meant nothing at the time.
If someone had told me then that you would become this—this constant, this ache—I would have laughed.
Because there was nothing remarkable about the way it began.
No warning signs. No red flags.
Just small things.
The way you remembered details I didn't think mattered.The way your attention felt selective, like you chose when to give it—and when you did, it felt earned.
That's how it started.
Not with love.
With attention.
And I didn't realize it then, but that was all it took.
Because attention, when given sparingly, starts to feel like something more.
Something rare.
Something worth keeping.
Something worth waiting for.
And without noticing…
I started to wait.