As I rummage through the appropriate responses to such a bold claim,

I slowly see my hard work go up in flames.
They're losing interest and my personality isn't helping;
I make a speedy retreat to those three daggers as I see their interest ascending.
Three thoughts individually wrapped in one horrifying commitment that I have now persued.
I am in a high speed chase with their affection and I am still trying to figure out whether I'm the cop that's chasing or the robber being chased as it slips:
"I think I love you".
These words are exciting until recognized as any other word in any other language; waiting to be misinterpreted and abused by the millions of authors attempting to destroy their ardent victim.
Do I mean it?
I have no idea.
I don't know what love feels like.
The fact that I prefaced this fantastic profession with "I think" should have been a clue that I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, but its not their fault.
All we can really do is trust, which is the most idiotic thing to do. We are built to coexist, not think as one (I'll leave the rest of the existential, life-exhausting statements for another time).
I don't know why I said what I did...
Actually, I do know why I said it. Although, I have no idea what made me feel like it should have been done. That's not something that can be taken back. No one says,"I think I love y.... Wait... Yeah, never mind."
I say it with no remorse. Unapologetically, I tell them that I love them so I can feel it in return. Something that I feel can be related by any person who has said the words.

I'm knee-deep in quicksand and I feel more loved than loving. It's nice, yet slimy. Who knows, this might be what love feels like. But after all, I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.