to me, you're words.

often i have contemplated the very words i would use to belittle your intelligence and bruise the ego you conned me into ignoring. i loved you. i believed you. i enacted a cliche romance, just for you. it wasn't good enough, you wanted and needed more than what i had to offer, and i offered me wholly. you had my undivided attention and misused it. you took what was yours and trampled on it. came back and denied it again. you threw my cliche love to the side and used me, abused me, and i let you do it, willingly. you see, i loved you and you were going to love me too, just as long as i could tolerate your adoration. i was wrong. why should i make you want to love me when love to you doesn't even exist. i closed my eyes to your discrete resistance. you were supposed to love me more, more is what you told me, more is what i believed. but you hurt me more, broke me more, and never stopped to let me catch a breath before you rained down more pain. to you, my love was a game. you tinkered around with my devotion when you were the one to say 'i love you' first.