You Don’t Love Me Anymore
You don’t love me anymore.
Not the way that I need you to.
We’re both afraid to be alone; to venture back into this world without each other is both apocalyptic and surreal.
I lie to myself that things will go back to how they were, that this is just a blimp, a speed bump, a bad dream that will expire and we will find each other again.
What a beautiful lie to waltz with until the truth seeps through.
We have given each other space and time; neither a galaxy nor millennia would bring us back.
If I were a time traveler, I would do it again to fall in love with you one more time.
Our climax was beautiful, innocent, and untarnished.
Then came the surgeries as they stole pieces of you away.
I stood by you through the work exhaustion, cancer scares, and mental health episodes, as you fell apart in front of me.
I blame myself for not being able to see you through; that I failed you, that I was inadequate, and worst of all, that I abandoned you.
I was a bystander as our empire fell in a fortnight.
A tsunami of guilt thinking that I gave up on you, on us, that somehow, I could carry the weight of two worlds, but I’m not Superman.
I couldn’t be your Clark Kent.
You no longer smile as I enter the room, your voice is empty and cold, and now you call me by my first name.
Here is the hammer and last nail, our romance is now a specter.
I could be the last man on earth, but that doesn’t change that you don’t love me anymore.
This was probably the hardest poem to write. The idea was sparked when I told her that she didn't love me anymore and I didn't want to live on the idea that our relationship will work out. The poem is me telling myself the truth I didn't want to hear and to accept things for what they are and not what I wanted them to be.
