I’m Not In Love With You Anymore

I’ve been tiptoeing around this.

I didn’t want to say this, but I’m not in love with you anymore.

I’m in love with the man who sat down next to me at the bus stop and apologized for forgetting my name.

I’m in love with the man whose hands were shaking when he first asked for my number.

I’m in love with the man who told me his life story — and didn’t judge me for mine – on day one. The one who came to Zumba and played basketball with me at night.

I’m in love with the man who took me to the doctor and picked up my prescriptions.

And I’m in love with the man who walked me to class every day and held my hand as we walked across the graduation stage.

I’m in love with the man who, despite a raging temper, would apologize when he was wrong. The one who needed time to cool down.

I’m in love with the man who paraded me in front of his bros — not because I was a piece of meat but because he was proud of me and of being with me.

And I’m also in love with the man who admired my intelligence, wasn’t intimidated by my ambition and stood by my success.

I’m in love with the man who couldn’t resist grabbing my ass in public. Or kissing me.

I’m in love with the man who would always make or order pizza for us, because what was a good night without pizza?

I’m in love with the man who could whip up an article in 30 minutes while I napped. The one whose intelligence often goes unnoticed because some think brawn is greater than brain.

I’m in love with the man who would hold me and kiss me. The one who was more observant and a better listener than me.

And I’m in love with the man who would give me butterflies — every single day.

But you’re not that man anymore.

And I’m not in love with you.