the things I never said.

All the things I never said.
They hung empty in my mind moments after the space between ‘it feels like you don’t love me anymore’ and her crocodile tears.

I never said.
I never said, how she made me feel when she shook me like an angry mother trying to silence her crying child
I never said, yes, you’re hurting me.
I never said no, I don’t think I’m in the mood.
I never said, this is my body and this is my choice.
I never said I didn’t need her.

When a week had passed I found out that, behind my back, she had been relentlessly throwing my name around, telling people I dumped her because she was fat and I found someone skinnier to fuck.

That’s brutal enough as it is. But the lie didn’t hurt as much as the accusation that someone who was struggling to recover from anorexia herself had called someone else fat.

I always said.
I always said yes, you are beautiful
I always said I didn’t care what anyone else said or thought about her, I thought, I KNEW she was fine the way she was
I always said yes, it’s fine, because I wouldn’t deny her the thing that made her feel wanted.
I always said I loved her.

That night I looked into her and realized I no longer felt her pain was the night I knew she was lying just to use me. Maybe she didn’t even realize it herself but something tells me you don’t unconditionally love someone and then slap ‘but I can’t just be your friend’ on it.

Something tells me that when I told her I couldn’t have sex because I was trying to finally get over being molested and she said ‘what about my needs,’ she didn’t think twice about mine.

All the things I never said.

I never said, I don’t need to be black and blue until I realize I don’t love you but
Hey, it sure ended up working out that way.

I tried to keep my cool when you told me I didn’t understand how it felt to lose a loved one to cancer, even though barely two years before I had to bury the best musician i had ever known, and he was fourteen. His body was left so ravaged by it we all hailed him as a hero for not begging to die and still putting his hollow, bony fingers to his guitar strings one last time.

I never said, fuck you.

I said, I’m leaving.