He finally said it.

We often talk underneath my Napoleon Dynamite comforter from back in high school that I never replaced.  Ever since I made that phone call so long ago I've held him under the comforter and told him that I feel less passionate and that we never talk about our feelings (lame but important) and we have sex so seldomly that I don't feel the need for me to keep taking birth control.  He would disagree and tell me that we're just getting used to each other and that this is probably a common way to feel later in a relationship.  I would cry and then he would hug me, but I never felt like I wanted to stop crying.  His words were crushing blows to my understanding of the current situation.  I knew I wasn't happy, but he seemed to be perfectly content, so it must be my problem to solve, not ours.

Finally he said it a few days ago.  He looked at me from across the couch and said, "I miss you.  I'm lonely."  He took my hand and led me to the bed and we got under the comforter and he told me how he was feeling.  He said he had become etremely anxious and nervous during class when I wasn't with him.  He said he felt like even when we were together we didn't act like we were in love.  He said all the things I'd been saying for over a year.  I responded by telling him that even when I'm with him I feel alone.  There is never a time when I feel like I have anything anymore.  All the grades and jobs and material things in the world can't make up for being trapped in a relationship that basically doesn't exist.  After explaining this I ended, in tears, with, "But I thought you said that was part of a relationship? Aren't we just getting used to one another?"  He started crying, too, repeating over and over how terrible that was and how he had been so wrong.

Then it sunk in.  He had finally accepted it.  He had finally gotten over what I had done.  He wanted to be mine again and his trust and want for my companionship had returned.  He proceeded to tell me things he had been thinking, things I thought I would never hear about again.  After that night he started hugging me for longer, kissing me (I hadn't been kissed, like actually kissed, in seven or eight months), and talking about how he feels about things instead of just telling me what happened in a particular day.

Now I know he has forgiven me.  Now it doesn't matter if anyone else ever forgives me.  Now it doesn't matter if that bastard ever talks to me again.  I have the relationship I really wanted back.

I don't think I could explain my happiness in a blog post so I'm not going to try.