So we were laying in bed and the air was tense.
Like, we just finished arguing but there wasn’t a couch either of us could go to so we both had to stay in the bed and act like everything was okay, tense.
And I was just laying there and looking at you as thoughts drifted in and out of your mind and you looked so good I just wanted to hold you, but I couldn’t. Because you had hurt me, again.
Because I was supposed to be mad at you.
Because you had this habit of making empty promises that I knew you wouldn’t keep but somehow always convinced myself that maybe, maybe this time you would.
And so I turned towards you and wrapped myself around you and tell you “I love you.” You wrapped you hand around mine, pulled me in closer and said “I love you too...but.”
Frankly, I never really heard what came after the “but,” I was too busy asking myself, did he not hear what I just said? I told him I loved him.
Why did he need to add a but?
“Hey, why did you need to add a but?”
Don’t you know that when I tell you that I love you, what I really mean is that you always manage to piss me off seconds after walking through the door?
I mean that around you, I have always felt like a mediocre version of myself.
When these three words come out of my mouth, what I’m really trying to say is that trusting you is as hard and frustrating as playing a game of jenga.
Slowly, you kept taking pieces of our love away and what building wouldn’t crumble with a lack of foundation?
When I tell you that I love you, I mean that I really need you to get your fucking shit together. Because letting someone go has always been easy for me.
Suppressing the memories until they are nothing more than an annoying shadow that sometimes comes to visit is doable for me. I could live with that.
But I need you specifically to get your shit together because if you left, my soul would abandon me and scream TAKE ME WITH YOU.
It wouldn’t hesitate to run after you before I could even figure out what the fuck was going on. You make me feel like I don’t own a single part of my own body.
What I mean is that I know my arms and legs would find a way to crawl back to you at some point and I honestly do not have the time to deal with that when you could easily just stay.
Stay with me, why is it always so hard for you to just stay with me?
When I tell you that I love you, I mean that sometimes I want you to be consumed with so much pain and confusion that you have to recite the abc’s in your head to find the letters of your name.
And even then I want you to struggle and even then I want you to be just a little more hurt. Because I know you can handle it. Because I certainly have handled it.
When I tell you that I love you, what I really mean is that despite all of these lines that would make any sane person think I hate you, the truth is that I really fucking love you.
Why can’t you see that the only thing your self destructive behaviors end up destroying is me?
I mean that dealing with the bullshit, the lies, the distance, the other bitch you promised would never come up in our conversations again, everything… was something I would put up with.
For you. For the feelings get when you hold my hand. For the way you seem to make me feel like I am the most beautiful girl you have ever laid eyes on.
For the peace I have when we lay together late at night.
But you said but. And I’m starting to think that this is the beginning of the end.