When I tell you I love you, it doesn't mean we go together now. It doesn't mean I want your children. It doesn't mean I need to meet your family. I love you means I love who you are as a person. I have surpassed like and landed on love.

So,

I'm not sorry for loving you.
I'm not sorry for listening to my heart early.
I'm not sorry about telling you first, knowing you probably wouldn't say it back. That's not why I told you.
I told you because you deserved to know that someone loves you.

But that's not how you took it. You helped in making it uncomfortable.

There are memories of you hidden everywhere. In books. In stations. In phrases. Your words are all I have left to hold onto. I can't trust those either. So really I have every reason to fall out of love.

I haven't.

I wish I could bury you underneath the others who desire me. I wish that blowjob would have helped me forget. I wish simple actions wouldn't remind me of you. But you're always there even when I try to block you out. Even when you don't care enough to answer. And I hate it. I hate that I still care.

But hatred doesn't make the love go away.