Thanks to you, I’ve always been kind of afraid to tell someone I love them.
We were cuddling in your bed one day, and I shifted to lay on top of you. “I love the boyfriend,” you seemed to say, which was a weird way to say that for the first time, but I took it. I returned the words back to you, but in proper English and everything. I don’t think I really knew what love was back then, but it didn’t feel wrong to say.
A few weeks later you came to my house and immediately broke up with me. I was, of course, devastated. You had only just told me you loved me, and now you’re leaving. How could you go through such a change so suddenly, with no explanation?
We met up a few weeks later to talk about everything. You said you never loved me. I pointed out that you had said it first, and you said no. “All of the boyfriend.” Some stupid rage comic meme language, because that’s what you brought to the bedroom.
This is one of those things I wish I could look back on and laugh, because it really is quite dumb. But it just kind of hurts. I dunno, maybe it would sit with me better if we didn’t have sex between the confusion and the breakup. I could say it was all one big miscommunication and you realized this relationship didn’t mean as much to you, but I can’t. I felt used.
Even seven years later, having gone through a marriage and everything, I still doubt myself when someone says they love me. Maybe I’m mishearing, or maybe they realize they can get something from me if they say it. My first experience with being loved was a lie; not one you meant to say, but one you let me believe for far too long.
Despite their issues, I look back on my other two relationships with fondness. I had many more good times than bad with them. They ended, but a good relationship doesn’t have to be this eternal thing. I’m happy I had them in my life. I wish I could recall anything about our time together that I look at in a positive light, but this is the only thing I really remember. You made me feel weaker than I am.