It's absolutely true that I do not love you anymore.
I found this once before, meeting you by accident
near the office of a favored mentor of mine, one that
you despised greatly. Since that time, I grew to love
you again, and we met in a bar, where you
annoyingly squeezed the very tips of my nipples
while I tried to say something serious to you, my back
eclipsing the eyes of your girlfriend who was trying to
find you in the mix, your inebriation taking presitence over
your loyalty to her, and I, some how the pawn in the middle,
digging a stake into her heart that had everything to do with you
and nothing to do with me. nevertheless, the woman is somehow
always to blame.
then later, that same evening, you told me that I was the meal ticket
for our generation---- even though I could barely
express to you how there was absolutely no room
left for another prolific voice in the history books
that nobody even reads anymore.
In the past, when you would gawk at my sophomoric
statements, I would lean into your sarcasm with the lust
of a teenage boy in heat, but now, not even your precious
subtle blushing cheeks can ignite one piece of fire in my
groin. And its not just you growing up and taking on responsibility,
or embracing the idea of loyalty to the point of it being a religion,
but it's also me, pulling away from something that I know will
never be mine.
It's sad. I can clearly remember one evening in another bar, when
we were younger-- I was barely 22. I stood in a line with your friends
and the conversation was about how the night would progress, and
what food would be ordered. Everyone thought you had all intentions of
staying, and they knew you far better than I did. Just as I took a breathe
I felt your lips on my cheeks, and you walked out. Everyone was confused
why you had left, but I knew. Later someone told me that you were scared
you'd break me. Later you told me you hoped I wouldn't go crazy. And that
I shouldn't touch you.
But now there is only a numbness. I sometimes recall that day we went to
a diner with another friend, and you were broken up with her, for a few days,
but you didn't tell me, because you were depressed, and I was even more depressed.
Had we both been happy, maybe another life could have started. Your dog had died,
you spoke to me over the phone about it. Nothing is the same anymore. I don't love you.
But I did.
