Routine Love

Dear Gage,

When you speak, are your words sincere,

or do they just float out like a ring of smoke,

from a cigarette I’ve told you will kill you one day?

When you speak, do you take time to think

your words over, to make sure they’ll hit their mark,

like an arrow from Cupid’s bow, or do you just

let them go, roam, not even caring where they land?

When you say that you love me, do you say it just because it’s

routine, like brushing your teeth or sleeping,

or do you say it because you mean it?

It’s getting harder to tell.

When you first said it, I knew you meant it.

You stared into my eyes and said it in a rush and told

me you knew it was soon, but that it was true, and that

I didn’t have to say it back.

But now, you rarely say it, and if you do, it’s never first.

And if it is, it’s only when I’m mad at you,

making “I love you” into a scapegoat. Making it cheap.

Making it feel light instead of heavy.

Making it feel like you’re just saying it to shut me up.

And to me, that isn’t love, that is a wolf in sheep’s clothing,

and my guard is up.

And I’d rather you not say it at all if you’re going to use it like that,

if you’re going to use ME like that.

Because words to me are sacred, they are powerful,

especially when strung together.

And the most beautiful, the most powerful string of words,

to me, is “I love you”

and I’d rather you not ruin it for me.

Because, when this ends,

I’d like to be able to use those words again and not cringe,

not ache, not feel like I’m being choked; suffocated when I say them,

not spit when I try to bring them forth.

No, one day, I’d like to be able to say them again

to someone who will say them back and cherish them

and never use them lightly.

Someone who will understand their importance.

Someone who will understand my importance and never forget.

Sincerely,

Hannah