You shower me in kindness, envelop me in affection, douse me in love. You cherish me wholeheartedly, accepting every weathered piece of my soul without reservation, admiring my faults, adoring my imperfections, believing I deserve your love.

In your eyes, I am flawless; a living embodiment of perfection; majestic, regal, undeniably rare.

Your genuineness rings true; your sweet nothings are laden with meaning. You refuse to sequester yourself from your feelings; to conceal your innermost thoughts under a thick veil of self-doubt.

Your words are passionate, heartfelt, carefree, the uninhibited bursts of adoration for which my heart pines. You share yourself fully, freely, without hesitance, drawing me into you, opening me up bit by bit as alluring appellations escape your lips.

What did I do to deserve your love, your affection, your sincerity?

I relentlessly wrack my mind to discover any discernible clue to your love for me, the key to your heart’s deepest desires. I compare myself against the women who have loved and lost you, wondering why I’m so special in your eyes.

My mind imagines you losing yourself in their shining eyes and radiant smiles, caressing their impeccably soft skin, savoring their crimson lips, but I emerge from my thoughts still longing for answers, wishing I fully knew your heart.

I don’t know what I did to deserve your love.

I’m no more remarkable than the women who left you brokenhearted. My skin reddens without warning, my hair tangles without remorse, my legs contort in an impossibly complicated fashion.

You leave me breathless, feverish, hopelessly inarticulate as I fail to adequately express the unbreakable grasp you have on my heart.

I am intimately acquainted with twinges of jealousy, unyieldingly prone to competition, unfailingly unwilling to compromise my ambition, and yet, you choose to love me as if I am the only woman you see.

What have I done to deserve your love?

Perhaps, you love me simply because I am human; vulnerable, raw, prone to the follies and foibles of this life.

Perhaps, you’ve discovered that I am a glaringly imperfect reflection of life itself; fragments of beauty and pain stitched into one. Perhaps, you adore the beauty in my brokenness, my unwavering, unapologetic tenderness. Perhaps, you recognize that even the most fractured souls deserve love.

I doubt I will ever feel that I truly deserve your unquenchable, passionate love. I wonder if I will eternally question whether I merit your adoration.

But for now, I will lay my heart to rest in yours, blissfully savoring the powerful high of your words, trusting that I will always be worthy enough to receive your love.

Kelly Douglas is an editor for Unwritten, an aspiring writer, and an avid mental health and disability advocate. Her work has been featured on Her Campus, HelloGiggles, The Mighty, Project Wednesday, HerStory, Thought Catalog, YourTango, MSN and Yahoo!. Follow her on Twitter.

This article was originally published at Unwritten. Reprinted with permission from the author.