I Don’t Love You Anymore
Hello Darling,
Putting a pen to paper has always been a very cathartic and an extremely liberating experience for me. Something about it makes me feel calmer when my heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my rib cage and fly around the room. When I have those immortal fears and depressions that no one else can understand, a piece of paper and ink has always been my immortal, silent and ever loving friend.
True to form and writing again, I’m saying the hardest thing that I never thought I’d say: “I don’t love you anymore”. I don’t think I ever did… At least not in the way that you love me.
You always talk about how we’re going to travel the world, see the catacombs of Paris, the mysterious and glory that is Stonehenge, and the beauty of a Texas sunset.
I question your sincerity, whether or not you love me is entirely subjective. I don’t know what to think. You’re lying to me, and I wonder if you’ll understand what I need from you. When my heart feels like this, I need reassurance that I’m not just here for your Summer. I don’t want a May-December romance. I want someone I can grow old with.
No one ever knows how much time they have on the planet, but however much time that will be, I want to know that you’ll be able to hold my hand in my last moments. You can’t be glued to whatever magazine you think will make the nurses find you intellectually stimulating when you walk past them to get another pack of M&M’s to feed your immense caffeine addiction.
I want to discover myself as an independent, and not have to worry about whether or not someone has remembered to turn off the stove when I’m walking through the Hollywood Hills. I want to be able to roam free without wondering if we’re going to be able to pay the bills next week or if all the money is gone to feed your very frivolous addictions.
I have a history of falling in love with ideas and not with other people. I’m not sure if I’m better off alone or if I’m better off without you.
I still love you, don’t forget it.