It’s not about “me” loving “you.” Don’t think of it that way.
This essay is one of the 1,234 letters that I have written for you. I do not know when, where or even how I will give it to you. I just wrote it addressed to you in advance hoping that you, my future partner, would admire my love for you.
It’s a cycle, a cliché scene in my mind wherein the boy-meets-girl setting ends up not-so-happily-ever-after. It’s common for you because you’ve experienced it time and time again. Kinda sucks, right?