Truly

I love you.

I guess I don’t say that enough, do I? Then again, we tend to try to keep our Achilles heel concealed beneath our socks. If you were watching me write this, I would be chided for the frame of reference. “It’s not a weakness!” you would shout in protest, lightly shoving me away from you.

If only you had the slightest clue as to how great of a flaw it is.

Unrequited love is awful, exhausting, infuriating, depressing, suffocating, pathetic, and complex. Here, you would be absolutely indignant. “Of course I love you!” you would yell. I would smile and reassure you that I held that knowledge safely within the confines of my mind, but I would be lying through my teeth, right to your scowling face.

You’ve made a habit out of quote-unquote loving me. You come to expect me to bid you adieu each night with a caring “I love you” and a light kiss on the cheek “goodnight”. You respond with a customary response, but your “I love you” is not wholly truthful. It is simply reflex.

I love you.

Some part of me has always and will always love you. God knows that I wish you could say the same for me. But where I have cherished your sole companionship and tried to guide the relationship towards greener grass, you have been distracted by different pastures. I know you too well to ignore this honed desire you have to check other fields and ensure that their pigment is no greater than the lawn I have so carefully sodden.

Somehow I think you’re happier in that hemisphere than you ever were in my little patch of home. That thought alone has my eyes dry and my lips quirked into that all too familiar grin that comes when one has a revelation of insight.

You, my dear, are meant to gallivant wherever you choose. I, my darling, am content to sit here and wait, carefully tending to this sensitive scrap of life, until your boundless energy has expired and you find yourself in need of a stationary shoulder to rest your weary head upon.

And that is my weakness. I will forever be that statuesque piece of home, eternally waiting that lively inhabitant that I constantly promise myself is just around the corner.