You know I care, and sometimes I think you really care too. But only sometimes.
Other times, I feel like you care about who we used to be before we made the decision to be more. Then, I was an equal. Someone you respected, someone who made you laugh, someone who showed you new things every day. Now, I’m just your girlfriend.
I don’t understand it.
You sought me out. You made the move to change the relationship, and you knew I would jump as high as you wanted because no one has ever made an impression on me quite like you have. So why did you change? Why are your eyes full of disinterest? Why aren’t you proud of me anymore? What did I do?
That look in your eyes when I ask you if you’re okay crushes me every time. I know that you’re okay, but nothing more. Just placating until it’s no longer convenient. I’m scared that you’ll leave, and I’ll be damned if I don’t leave first. But I’ll miss you more than I’ve ever missed anything. I just can’t work out why.
Why I’m always vulnerable. Always exposed. And you’re always stoic. Why you never take my side. Ever. Why my success is not even vaguely interesting. Why my field of study, my hometown, my family, are all weak in comparison to your own characteristics.
And all of this–all of these notions–are why I’ve never said those few words. Maybe I damned us by holding back, but to be fair, you’ve never said them either.