You don’t love me and it’s okay.
That, perhaps, is my favorite lie.
Whenever I tell you that, I mean:
1. It’s not okay. I want to be able to hold your hand, to hold you, without holding back or wishing it is not not right.
2. It’s not okay. My heart breaks every time you mention her.
3. It’s not okay. Why do you keep running back to me if you can’t stay?
4. It’s not okay. I just really want to hold your hand.
5. It’s not okay. I love you and is it wrong to sometimes pray to whoever god is listening that you’d somehow love me back?
6. It’s not okay. You make everything better. How can I let go of your brightness?
7. It’s not okay. I wish you were here with me.
8. It’s not okay. I understand though – who would ever choose me? I am never meant to occupy a space in your heart as something more than someone who reminded you you can be so much more.
9. It’s not okay. I’ve been telling you that it’s getting difficult to not love you, but you kept me holding on. Why?
10. It’s not okay but it’s not your fault you can’t love me.
11. It’s not okay. I can’t sleep at night thinking how you would go on if I leave. I know you’d be okay. So why am I breaking?
12. It’s not okay. I know you’d leave someday. I’ve accepted that. But why am I crying?
Whenever I tell you that it’s okay, what I really mean is:
I love you with all that I am, with all the love life has left me, with all that I can, and I’m willing to give more than what my heart can take, but I can’t because it’s not the love you want or need so okay. It’s okay.
This Side of The Road 