It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
“I decided on you, don’t you get that? I decided on you. I don’t want to go fucking other people and then walk around feeling thrilled and then sad, or empty, or whatever. I like the smell of your hair, and I like the sound of your voice, and I fucking decided on you.”—(via a0mame)
“These are the moments I fall deeper in love with him. When neither of us says anything, and we just stare. There’s an understanding that goes much deeper than words ever could. A connection so real I can’t speak, because words could never say the things I feel.”—Amanda Grace, But I Love Him (via perfect)
It’s so hard fluctuating between your situation and mine. I don’t know what’s more important. I’m helpless in both situations. I want to help us both but I’m not that strong. I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t handle it like this
I’m not going to be the girl you marry.
I’ll be the memory you have when you propose to her. As you slide that ring on her finger you’ll think about that time we got dressed in our swankiest threads and had a horrible time at that party so we came back home and sat in an empty bath tub drinking whiskey outta the bottle talking about our childhood dreams.
I’m not going to be the girl you marry. I’ll be that memory whenever you and her get in an argument. you’ll recall our first fight and the endless glares and icy tones. Repetition of words like RESPECT and WHY rung through the stillness of the air. We almost ended that night. Thankfully you stopped me from walking out of that door.
I’m not going to be the girl you marry. I’ll be that memory when you have your first child. When you and your wife are picking out names you’ll remember our talk about our future. Our apartment layout and first pet. A dog named Pascal because I’m allergic to cats.
I’m not going to be the girl you marry. I’ll be the girl you fall for when you are too young to understand what falling really is. You’ll fuck up and lose me. You won’t realize it until a while later. But when you do, you’ll think about me everyday. Forever.