i don't love you anymore.

on unmasking.

from pinterest

i say, i don't love you anymore. what i really mean is that i don't love the person you've grown into. rather, the person you've been reduced to. minuscule. pathetic. the smallest man in the world some days. most days.

i don't love you anymore. i remember being in love with you. it coats my memory in visions of black and white. i would've done anything for you. do you know that? have you realized that? i would've burned down the entire world just to keep you warm.

on your twenty-first birthday i gifted you a box with all of your favorite things. particularly the book The Art of War by Sun Tzu. it sat above all of the other gifts and i was there in front of you, leg shaking with anticipation, waiting for your eyes to light up with excitement and say you remembered, you see me, you love me and i love you even more. the words never came and you thanked me like you thank someone for holding the door open for you. do you remember being in Books A Million that day with me? two years ago you accompanied me on my annual religious pilgrimage to the holy land. i was there for poetry books. i encouraged you to read — something, anything. reading makes you a better person, i said.

i led you to the picture books for children. it was mainly a joke. there's a stark difference between being well read and reading well. unfortunately you are neither. not to say you aren't smart — you are. you're smart in the way that most guys are. you can change a tire. you know the best car brands. or makes/models. whatever you want to call it. the point is, you know things. i know concepts, and, while it was a good dynamic for us, for awhile, it was not sustainable.

i don't love you anymore. i showed you the book because it had the buzzword "War" in the title and i know most men like you like that kind of thing. you thumbed through it once, called it interesting, and placed it back on the shelf. i carried my new collection that included Yung Pueblo, Billy Chipata, and Lang Leav to the cashier that looked like she wanted to kill herself. i smiled and handed her my card. i also sent her a telepathic message: don't worry, i want to kill myself too. just know it won't fix anything.

a few weeks after i finished reading the mountain of words, i went back to the same store and bought you the book (The Art of War). i stayed for an hour, looking through every section possible to find it. i wanted to give it to you because you touched it. baby, in that life, in that life that has since passed, you were Midas. you were Midas and i wanted to give i gave you every piece of gold i could find. even the pieces that were soldered to bones and ligaments to hold this fragile body together.

i don't love you anymore. do you remember february of 2022? valentine's day. it had been two months since my dad died and i was still away at college. i was there, at Buffalo Wild Wings (the place we were supposed to have our first date), sitting across from you, leg shaking again with anticipation, you look really handsome today. the left corner of your mouth pulled upward and you nodded, thank you. you thanked me like you would thank a stranger for letting you get on their elevator last second. i couldn't meet your eyes. tears pooled at the edges of my lashes and my throat started to close up. the waitress came and asked us what we wanted to drink. my voice was gone, held tightly by my vocal chords, so you ordered a coke for me. i choked out a sob when she left. i only drink diet coke. i only drink diet coke and you forgot.

i don't love you anymore. what i mean to say is that i don't love you anymore because you forgot how to love me. what i mean to say is that you forgot to choose me. what i mean to say is that i can't forget the crimes you committed — i've forgiven you, but i have not forgotten.

you forgot i drink diet coke and you didn't call me pretty and i still went back to our your apartment and fucked you. you never finished and it broke my heart. the next day i found the messages between you and another girl (a coworker with perky tits and a waist that collapsed into itself). i asked if you fucked her and you didn't say anything. i asked you again and you whispered a no. i asked you again and you responded when would i have the time to do that?

a week later you told me you wanted to break up with me. i panicked and drove an hour back to your apartment. i stayed for a week, driving back and forth to class and work, and coming home and fucking you so you wouldn't leave me. you said it didn't change how you felt and i fucked you anyway. i fucked you because i felt wanted. i worshipped you until my knees were black and blue. do you know what blind devotion is like?

fuck.

i don't love you anymore because you despised everything except for my body. this body, this stupid dog that follows me around. the truth is, we're all dogs. flat-bellied and pathetic, devouring our weight in dirt to taste a spec of salt. you gutted me like a ripe fruit. even when it hurt. even when i didn't want to. like your good dog, i rolled over and laid down and performed. most nights i would lay beside you and sob until i shook the bed with the weight of it all. i never felt an arm around me, i never felt your chest pressed against my tear-stained cheeks, or even a kiss to my hair. i loved you and you didn't care.

breathe.

i don't love you anymore. what i really mean is that i don't love the person you've always been.

i loved you in the way a dog loves its owner.

i don't want to be the dog anymore.

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As always, stay safe, stay warm, and stay kind.

Best regards,

Zoe.