You Never Loved Me

You never loved me.
Oh, you went through all the motions, and you said all the right things, but you never loved me like I loved you. I was the one who said the three words first. You didn’t say them then. And when you did, it was as though you said it just to reassure me.
You never loved me.
Is it just that you don’t understand how much you meant to me? You were my everything, and I gave you all that I had. And all you did was take, take, take. What did you want? Why did you want so much?
I remember one time when we were eating out. It was our six-month anniversary. You were distant. Cold. And then, when I asked you if you still loved me, this pained expression flitted across your face for the briefest moment. At first I wasn’t even sure if I really saw it. Then you hesitated. Just a second. A hesitation even so. But you said yes.
Three days later, we broke up.
You had never loved me.
So now what am I supposed to do? It’s all over, thanks to you. Whatever we had, you ruined it. You trampled it, killed it. I loved you, and you didn’t. Or maybe you did at first, because how else would we have gotten together? Maybe you thought you did, and you didn’t have the heart to tell me, because you were a coward.
Maybe, maybe, maybe. Almost everything’s a maybe.
Except for one thing.
You never loved me.
***
No, no, no.
My friend, you were the one that never loved me.
Oh, yes, you said you did. Quite often, in fact. You were the one that said it first. Fourteen weeks after we met. I didn’t say them. I liked you. You were smart, funny, caring.
At first.
You supposedly gave. You gave material things. And you thought you gave your heart. You weren’t loving me. You were being servile. You did this, you did that. And you thought that you were showing me love. You weren’t showing yourself self-respect. And you had the nerve to think that what you did was enough.
I remember our six-month anniversary. I thought about the part of you that you’d shown me first. And how you changed. Then you asked me if I loved you. And what did you want me to say? You didn’t want me, you didn’t even need me. You just wanted someone who would parrot off those words whenever you needed it said. And like a fool, I said so.
It was a mistake.
Three days later, we broke up.
Doubtless, you think that I took your “love” and gave you nothing. That’s a lie. You took my life, clinging to me by a leech, demanding my love, craving reassurance. So I stayed with you for six months too long. You couldn’t be yourself, couldn’t be honest. Maybe you never were honest at all. Maybe you didn’t know how to do that. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But you never loved me.

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5 thoughts on “You Never Loved Me

  1. “enjoyed” this – enjoyed is not the right word I know but it was good – pithy, so accurate and spot on. Continue to enjoy your work. Hope all is going well with you, david

  2. Dude. You never cease to amaze me. That was incredible. You got me really into the first person’s side of the story, and then you totally turned it around and gave me an entirely different perspective. And another thing is, you didn’t ever say which was the boy and which was the girl. You just leave that open to interpretation. You, sir, are a masterful writer.

    • That was the whole point, I do believe–wording it just right so that either side could be the male or female, and presenting the situation from both sides. In my mind, though, I know who is the man and who is the woman, but to each how he perceives it 😉

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