I do not love him.

Maybe for a bit I did, but I don't now.

I have to keep telling myself about the sarcastic way he said, "I'll always be here," and "I won't leave,". I have to keep telling myself about the way he would love his alcohol more than my company.
He never waited for me, or held the door. He had to be the first one to leave and the first one to arrive. He turned his head when he saw something he didn't like, and he would die before trying anything new.

I do not love him.
but I did.

I fell in love with the way he said my name and the rasp in his voice when he said, "I'll always be here,". I fell in love with how he would look at me like I was his whole world, and become jealous when other boys would look at me the same way. He would play with my fingers and look at them for the longest time as if he was trying to decipher some lost language of the human body. And when he would stare at my lips, I would just crumble into his sublime. I loved the way his thumb would run over my lower lip like he wanted to touch me just to be sure I was real and not a dream.

I do not love him.
but I did before.
not anymore.

Not after he slammed the door in my face and deleted me from his life like a single button. He refused to look at me and when he would say my name it sounded like a stranger. I don't love him anymore because of his growing lies and distant hands. After he decided to ruin my heart he went the extra mile and ruined my life.

Every song had his name in it, and every piece of clothing smelled like him. He ruined me in the most deadliest ways: by slowly ripping my heart out with his green eyes.

I don't love him.
but I did.

His heart was as cold as the Alaskan air but his voice was as warm at the alcohol he drank and that was the only thing I'm still in love with.