“I love you.” When those three words came out of your mouth, it felt as though my heart stopped beating. There was something in the way when you told me you loved me. Those three little words never meant anything to you, yet you let them slip off your tongue effortlessly. They tugged on my aching heart and took my breath away.

Over time, the weight of it all began to suffocate me; I no longer craved to hear those three words. Despite the charm in how emotionlessly you spoke to me, I was still caught up with what I wanted to hear. You never understood the heaviness those words carried, and I was tired of falling for it every single time.

You never loved me; you were only seeking warmth. You wanted a conscious body by your side to feel a little heat in your cold soul. You wanted to feel something real and raw without falling captive to an emotional connection.

You held onto me for so long because you couldn’t differentiate wanting love and wanting warmth. You thought love was a “romantic” visit at midnight to show me how much you missed me, only for my clothes to be discarded onto the bedroom floor. You thought love was a one-way street only held under your terms when it was most convenient for you. You only missed the curve of my spine against your naked body when all I wanted were for your clammy hands to hold me.

The harsh reality was that you could only ever tell me you loved me when we were tangled up within the sheets, heat radiating off of our sweaty bodies. For you, I was only a body to exercise all your frustrations and sadness into. That was what you always wanted. Love or intimacy was never on the table.