Don't say you love me

I don't need you to tell me that I'm courageous and beautiful and strong.

I already know.

The trouble was that you didn't want me whole.  You said you loved me, but you only wanted the parts that fit.  You wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone to meet the needs your other relationship didn't.

I told you from the beginning that I was tearing out a part of myself for the sake of this feeling, that I wouldn't be able to sustain it forever.  You said you could not change.  You didn't know how.

I did what you couldn't.

Last week I told you I was falling apart.  I couldn't do it anymore.  You asked me what I wanted, you offered to compromise for the first time.  So I told you.  Now you were torn.  You needed time to think.

This week I asked you, what is on your mind?  You stalled.  You offered ifs and whens and years-from-nows.  I asked again.  You can't make that sacrifice for me.  You offered ... a time limit.  Another kind of limited, not-real relationship.

I could have what I needed from you, for two months.  Maybe more.  No.

Now, later, after I've had some time, that is tempting.

But that would still be a suppression of my self.

I ended it.  But I let you see how that hurt me.  You wanted to stay in my life, as a friend, as something.  You told me I was wonderful.

I don't need to hear that from you.  I can do what you can't.  I make sacrifices and I give my whole heart when I love someone.

You can't make sacrifices.  You never wanted a whole heart.  You don't know what that kind of love is.  You can say it.  But it's just another expression of affection.  You might as well be saying "I think you're lovely and want to spend time with you".  There is more to love.

One day, I might find that.  It won't be with you.