Why then

Next July I turn 29. It has been quite some time now since I stopped caring about how fast time is going by or how old I'd soon become. I cannot say that some things have not changed, though. I remember that when I was 17, I'd think love is something stale, or at least still. It is not. Not only would love transform itself throughout my days, but also I'd chance the way I see loves I had.
It's funny... you can't know how love feels when you are living it. Or... all loves may just seem the same. They are not the same. But it's only with time that you begin to realise how very peculiar each one of the people you said 'I love you' to is. That too I'd already figured out. A few days ago, however, I began to think of something new. I started to notice how I can only see love at very rare times.
When Daniel broke up with me, he wrote me a letter in which he said he'd never really loved me. I was so furious. I knew it was not true. I told he had no right to tell me so and mentioned one or two times when I was sure he loved me. One of them was when we first started going out, it was a Sunday evening and I told him it was somewhat late for us to see each other that day. But he insisted on seeing me. So he took bus and after over an hour we met. We stayed together for maybe twenty or thirty minutes and I was really surprised he felt such an urge for meeting me for so short a time. I told him that made me feel really special and that I was glad he came. That day I felt really loved. We were together for almost year, and there weren't many times like that. Not that it was his fault, or that we were any different from most couples. Love is actually like this. It doesn't show itself often, even when it's there.
Maybe it was because of this that I felt years later the desperate need to show my love. That was what I did with Filipe. All the time we were together, everyday, I'd show him how much I loved. Him... but also love as a single word. I loved... and I wanted him to notice that. Probably I wasn't aware of what I was doing. I couldn't really. I gave him everything I had; love was just a part of it.
I am falling apart now because I came to think it was only me. It was all me. I keep thinking and trying to remember when I saw love in his eyes. When was the time that he touched me and I believed he didn't want to be anywhere else? I can't. I am trying really hard, and I can't. There was none. It was always me; everything we had was me. Why then? Why did I love him all the time? Why didn't he do anything if I am sure he was sure I was all his?