for all of the times you could have said i love you, and didn't.

there are days that go by,
when i think of you.
i think of your empty promises
and blank stares.
i think of every word you said to me.
i think of how many times
you could have said i love you
and chose to ask for another beer instead.
there are months that pass,
when i think of how you smelled.
i remember your strong cologne
and the overwhelming stench of alcohol.
i think of every time i smelled your breath.
i think of how many times
you could have said i love you
and chose instead, to drink more.
there are certain hours that pass,
that feel a little less like home
than the others.
i think of how familiar they are.
how i used to sit and stare at my ceiling
and count every second that passed,
just so i could say i lived as long
as i tried too.
i think of how many times you could have said i love you
and let me in on your secret,
that you didn't.
you have proven over
and over
and over again,
how much you hate me.
even though the words never left your lips,
every time you didn't say i love you,
you let me know.
and i grew into a person
who doesn't expect to hear it.
that they are loved.
there are minutes
that go by.
and i think of how many
i had to go through
wanting to die.
how many hours, days, seconds, years.
how many years
i thought about leaving my mother
my brother
behind.
just so i didn't have
to feel this pain anymore.
i think of how many times you could have said i love you
and chose to choke every single breath from my lungs.
i cannot breathe,
sometimes.
it feels like your hand is still around my throat and all of that pain, is coming back.
and i want to succumb.
to the darkness.
i have fought everyday
to remind myself
that even though you couldn't say those words,
that i deserve them.
all of those times you could have said i love you,
did you think to?
did you think,
"maybe she needs to hear these words"
or did you assume i already knew,
i was incapable
of love?
of being loved?
sometimes there are cars that go by
and i am reminded of how
fast
you used to go.
you could have said i love you then,
but chose to press your foot further down,
and it felt sometimes as though that foot was on my back,
and i was on the ground;
helpless.
when i think of you,
and all of the horrible things you have ever done.
how horrible of a man you became.
one thought always stands out, amongst the others.
and i realize that is where my pain comes from:
all of the times you could have said i love you, and didn't.