Itās not that I donāt love you. Itās the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
Itās not that I donāt love you. Itās all the blood in the sink. Itās the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didnāt love her anymore. Itās the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
Itās not that I donāt love you. Itās the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
Itās not that I donāt love you. Itās the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldnāt handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you canāt fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
Itās not that I donāt love you. Itās that I do.
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