It's not that I don't love you. It's the sound I heard when I was younger, the slamming of the front door, and the shattering of picture frames. I think, after he left, he took a part of my mom with him. She was never the same; She was always bringing home a new 'daddy' for me, and alcohol seemed to fill her veins. She was empty, a mess filled with shattered ribs and depression pills. He destroyed her, and she took us all down with her.
It's not that I don't love you. It's the blood that filled the sink. It's the long nights I stayed at that quiet hospital, missing school days, to see if my sister was going to be okay after the boy she loved told her he didn't love her anymore. It's the fluorescent lights, the crying, cursing, pale faces, and shaky breaths, and blood. so much blood.
It's not that I don't love you. It's those two long nights I had to stay up with my best friend as she screamed and cried and threw up on my bedroom floor after her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear she still has tear stains on her cheeks. I think when you love someone it never really goes away.
It's not that I don't love you. It's when in 7th grade, my English teacher was getting divorced and we had a substitute for almost 3 months. When she came back, she was smiling, but her hand shook so hard when she held her coffee, and you could tell something was so so broken inside. Some things you can just not fix. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was spinning so hard that she just never really read our essays.
It's not that I don't love you.
It's that I do.
