believe me when I say there is no way to make “I do not love you” sound poetic
you cannot tip toe around it
You cannot sugarcoat it
he does not love me
he does not love me and I can taste it
I can still taste him
I convinced myself half of him, the lower half of him, was better than nothing at all
I convinced myself his touch could make up for his lack of affection
don’t get me wrong, this is not a “how dare you do this to me? how dare you treat me like this?” Because I know very well I asked for it, I know very well my hands trailed your chest.
This is a “why does love like that exist? How can love change overnight?” Because it did. Because it was in fact love. He used to say I lived in his head and all his dreams were about me.