Tell her you love her, that you have never loved anyone else the way you love her.
Then remember the way you loved me.
And the way you still love me, even now.
The way you pretend not to in the day to day, but you still see me everywhere-our memories have painted your eyes, and you still see me even when I’m nowhere to be found. The way that at night when you’re alone, my voice still bounces around in the midst of all the other thoughts you have- a steady bass drum that doesn’t demand attention, but continuously repeats, refusing to let you forget.
Pretend like you don’t think about my eyes; the way they looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the way I could tune out everything else besides us, even when your eyes kept wandering. Pretend like you’ve forgotten the sound of my laughter; remember how I was completely unafraid to look silly or foolish around you, despite how often you managed to make me feel that way. Remember the way I held your hand, no matter how often you decided to pull it away.
Remember how at one time, I spent all of my energy and effort trying to make you understand the extent of my feelings, and how you turned away and claimed ignorance, pretending you didn’t notice.
Remember how you listened to all the voices in your head saying to walk away, telling you there were other options- better ones. Remember how you tried to fill the void I left with dozens of things, and how by the time you figured out that nothing came close, I was gone.
Because it is true that I tend to stay, I am loyal, and I will fight harder than anyone to make something work. Yet once I’ve walked away, there is no going back.
You set me free hoping you would get freedom yourself. You set me free not knowing or caring how it might affect me, because you assumed you’d be happier. Until it turned out that I was the one who was finally free. I was the one who ended up happy, to both of our surprise. It was you who would try to get rises out of me, try to convince me to come back, try to say you made a mistake and tell me over and over how you had changed.
But it didn’t matter. Because once the feelings left, I had no desire to return.
And now, you try to move on. You talk to pretty faces and you tell them they are your favorite. You develop feelings for one and you try to live your life.
You tell her you love her, and that you’ve never loved anyone else the way you loved her.
Of course you haven’t. But does she know you will never love anyone else the way you loved me?
Does she know the way you love her, will always be a little less?