We lay together on the tiny, one-person mattress in the middle of your living room, our legs tangled in the blanket and the original It fading in the background. I can't help but smile whenever your lips meet mine. Hints of your cologne send butterflies tickling my insides.

I'm blissful, euphoric.

You're unlike any other. Your persistent reassurance keeps me on my feet, threatens my self-doubt. You remind me that I'm not a burden.

I'm never alone, even when I'm away from you.

Whenever my demons come banging on the door, threatening my lucidity, you keep it locked.

It was this night that my feelings got the best of me, as they usually do. We had only been dating for a couple weeks. It was too soon. I knew this, yet chose to ignore it.

"I think I might love you," I said.

As soon as the words slipped through my lips, I wanted to take them back.

You couldn't reciprocate, and I completely understood. It was too soon.

A week later, we lay on your bed again. The night had been filled with our usual YouTube videos and Jimmy John's. My mind screamed at me. I wanted to say it again, it felt like my life depended on it, but I couldn't. It was still too soon. The words threaten to flow off my tongue all too easily. I need to wait, but I've never been patient.

I need to hear you say it.

Am I just that needy? Am I so desperate to be loved that I must rush it?

I thought I loved someone before you, but I was wrong.

This time, I know I'm right. Maybe that's why I'm aching to hear it, I need to know I'm right.

You're not only who I want, but who I need.

I don't care if it's too soon.

I love you too much to let that get in the way.