“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
From the very beginning, there was something there. We nurtured it and watched it bloom into something so incredibly profound. Nobody really understood but nobody questioned it. It was written in the oldest of tales. We were whole together.
“I love you.”
“Love ya too.”
You began to feel like home. The way you smelled could never be described and never lingered long enough once you left. Your arms wrapped around my frame and everything felt safe. I wanted to stay there forever, with your heart beating subtly through your old tee and my arms barely making it around your torso.
“I love you.”
“Same.”
We began to get comfortable. Do not misinterpret this, comfortable is wonderful. It is what you do with that comfort that can lead to hurt.
“I love you.”
“Yeah.”
You tell me it wasn’t all real, that you had begun dreading seeing me. You tell me I am a nuisance, an annoyance, a pain. I loved you with every ounce of me and you stopped wanting me weeks ago. What was the point? Did you enjoy hurting me? Did you like saying you had me? Was I just an item to you?
I still love you, even after all this.
“I love you.”
Porcelain Prose 