"He didn't love you." Said to me so matter of fact, as if I'd shrug my shoulders and say, "True!" then skip on down the lane. Always said to me in a way that assumes I didn't know this, and this knowledge would somehow change my feelings. Change my hurt. Change my heartbreak.
I loved his voice. His looks came and went. Sometimes looking so attractive and other times like a pudgy old man lying about his height. Though he'd always tell me how good looking he was. Soothing voice. A voice with conviction that you believed. Even when I knew he was wrong he would say things in such a way that my mind would question even with all proof before my eyes.
He didn't love you.
As I was crumbling, he said, "So have you cried yet today?" with a laugh and smirk in the undertone. He held me as we lay together on the beanbag that night. I was drunk, high, crying quietly as I plummeted further under. I never felt he cared, yet I clung to his arms with the distant hope that if he felt my pain he'd return to those early days of claiming he loved me. He saw and acknowledged I was breaking, even said he knew I was suicidal, yet offered nothing.
He didn't love you.
I drove drunk and high with him. Opening a bottle of wine and chugging it from the bottle while going down the road in broad daylight. Flying to Vegas to meet up with him and not telling anyone, where we agreed to play like we were in love and nothing in the past had happened for the time we were there. It was dangerous, and toxic, and I should really regret it but I don't.
He didn't love you.
I've lost two years of my life to this man. Longer. But even with the devaluation, the cruelty, the abuse...God we were so fucking great in some ways! He lied (yet said I did), said some of the most hurtful words ever spoken to me, broke me...but there was also a connection I have never had, and don't expect to again.
He didn't love you.
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