It is still such a novel experience for me, to be madly in love with someone who returns the sentiment.
Actually, scratch that. The times when someone has not reciprocated, when what I thought of as "love" was not shared (see the beginnings of this diary for a somewhat-less-than-charming account of this phenomenon) -- it could hardly be called being "madly in love" on my part. It was a convenient label to put on things at the time, certainly, and one that explained my mopey demeanor.
The other times when someone and I have said "I love you" with equal fervor and candor are a different experience as well -- this does not diminish those times at all, as I think it is only because I have had that already that allows me to take part in this new sensation.
Now, it feels like every time I say "I love you," and he looks back and says "I love you," each feeds off the other and gets stronger and my heart just fills my chest and my breath just catches in my throat so I have to blink and look away to make my lungs work again. And somehow, despite this haze of boy that consumes my brain, I did not even find out his favorite color until yesterday.