“I still love you.”

Four words so twisted with lies. My hand clenched into a fist, crumbling the piece of paper within. There were many notes left on my doorstep. Apologies of sorts, promises of amends to be made, pleads to be granted another chance. All just as meaningless as the ones that came before them. I used to love his little notes. Every morning when I’d wake up, they’d be waiting for me when he couldn’t be. On the mornings he left before me, they would be scattered throughout our apartment without fail. They would be part of my morning ritual, my morning scavenger hunt.

The one on the pillow next to me wishing me a good morning and telling me that he misses me. The one on the bathroom mirror assuring me that I’m beautiful no matter what the mirror says. The one on my dresser reminding me to dress myself now so that he could take them off later. The one on the coffee machine telling me that tomorrow he would make me a better breakfast than just this coffee. The one on the fridge thanking me for making his lunch last night and to not forget to make mine. The one on my coat reporting the weather conditions outside so I could prepare. The final one was always on my steering wheel reminding me that he loved me.

All those notes were sweet nothings whispered into my ear on the daily. They helped me ignore the signs that something was wrong, that something would ever be wrong. Why would I feel the need to obsess over his phone, his social media, his doings when he wasn’t with me. The little notes helped him to always be on my mind and reassured me that I was on his. Looking back, I realized how much they deceived me, how they blinded me from the truth. This note would not change anything. I knew what you had done and there was no going back to what we were.

I, the first word in the sentence, the beginning, the introduction. It was the only word you ever really understood. The only one you ever cared about. It was the center of your world and for a while, the center of mine. “I am sorry.” “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “I need you to forgive me.” All those words that you whispered just for yourself. You were sorry that you got caught. You didn’t mean to hurt me because you didn’t realize that I could hurt you. You need me to forgive you so that you can feel better about yourself. Well now I am taking the word “I” from you, and I am going to be selfish.

Still, the word that prolongs, that persists, the one that remains even if the others are gone. If you hadn’t betrayed me, we would still be together. If you hadn’t left me, we could still be happy. If you had thought about me for a moment, I would still wake up to your notes, your scent on the pillow, your imprint in the sheets. However, still means nothing now. Nothing is the same anymore. You can still do whatever you want. You can still leave notes. Like the ones before them, I will still throw them into the garbage can. I do not still love you.

Love, a word with such meaningless purpose, a word of which you never knew the meaning. Love is what I felt for you. Love is a word only meant for one other. Love is now what I feel for me. It is the word that will keep me from ever going back to you. It is a word that you have betrayed in its entirety and now only belongs to me. I had that word sacred. I gave that word meaning. Now I get to keep it all to myself.

You, the final word, the ending. That was the word of your loss. You was all the kisses, all the compliments, all the rituals that we had. You was the apartment, the bed we shared, the jokes that only we knew the punchline to. You was all the things you were desperately holding onto, the things you missed. You were all the things that you had no ownership of and now belonged to me. You still had the memories, the only you were so desperately clinging to in hopes that I would remember how great it was when it was us. I’m taking myself out of the us, I’m pulling the “you” out of the sentence. Now there is just you, and it is separate from me. You are now alone with your fake love and your empty promises and your cold nights. You have taken my love, my tears, my time, but you will be taking nothing else from me. You only have yourself now.

To put it all together, you never loved me. It was a lie you told us both, and while I’ve woken up to the truth, you seem to be repeating the words to yourself. Does it make you feel better? Does it help you sleep at night? Does it make you feel like at least you tried? You tried to make things right. You tried to apologize. You tried to show me you changed. You had done all this to console yourself, but if I didn’t want to fix things, then you could now stop blaming yourself and start blaming me. Now that you had tried, I could be the bad guy, and you could get some sleep. You can tell yourself over and over again that I was the liar, that I never really loved you, that I was the reason we fell apart. You can tell yourself all that you want, but my words remain the same, if you ever truly loved me, you shouldn’t have tried to love her.