“How could you?” He asks, his voice shaking in pain.

I close my eyes, letting the tears drizzle down my eyes, “I did it because I love you.” My voice is barely a whisper.

“You lied to me, you forgot me. That’s what you call love?” His words sting more than any other pain I’ve felt before.

He turns to leave but my hand reaches his arm, my voice soft like a child’s, “Don’t go.” His eyes soften, but quickly harden and he rips from my grasp. As I watch him leave his words echo in my head. He was right though, even though it hurts to admit.

Love isn’t something you can just forget, cut open, rip out the love, throw it on the floor, and pop all the caring inside. Love isn’t something you can lie about. Love is the safety you feel in his warm embrace, love is the reason the sun comes up in the morning. Love is the blood and sweat of a shabby life.

Love is not what I gave him, its what he gave me.

Love is what I always wanted to give to him, though.