We would walk all day. I would hug her so tight that my heart could feel her heartbeats. I would kiss her like life would depend on her smiles on my lips. And still, at the end of the night, she would ask “do you care about me?”.
I always answered with “love, of course I do, do you doubt that?”, she would say “of course not”, but after half an hour she would ask again. “Do you care about me?” was like our relationship’s leitmotif.
She asked because she liked the way I would look at her when I answered. She asked because she wanted me to be aware at all times that I cared. It was because she liked being cared about, even though she never admitted any of that.
Truth is, I loved her, but I never told her that, because, in the end, I liked when she asked
“do you care about me?” with big curious eyes and playful mouth;
it were those moments when I loved her the most.