I keep telling you ‘I love you’ and it comes out as an apology. I’m sorry. You want it to be bolder, bigger, less pathetic. ‘Love’ has become a fighting word for us. You argue that you love me more. I don’t object. I turn over in bed, sob into the pillow, pity myself. I mumble it back to you because you like the way it sounds coming out of my mouth. We’ve turned caring for each other into a duty dance that’s cheapened ‘love.’ It has become another way of apologizing as you roll your eyes and say, ‘Sorry, I forgot to buy milk’, a habit with every evening’s, ‘Night, love you too’, a promise we keep breaking: ‘Of course I won’t, I love you’, a lie. It hits me that we no longer know what it means when you slap me across the face and instantly, I tell you I love you. I can’t help it. I have spent months associating it with this much pain. My insides are bullet-holed basins where the past goes to die. I feel death when you stand close. Stay away from me. I love you.
Lora Mathis, “We Need a New Word for ‘Love,’ It’s Overused” (via oofpoetry)
