He loved me but he didn't know how,
Really.
In pockets maybe...
Pockets full of old emotions and old memories,
The kind you live in and exist in as if they are still real and current.
He loved me -
But he loved me like jet-lag.
Like an old childhood that he dreamed up because it was one he wanted,
One he longed for.
He loves me.
He loves me because it is all he has left.
All he has left after years of living an unsatisfied life of dreams un-followed, and chains that bind him to responsibilities that pulled him from the surreal realities that pulled and played and made life easier in his mind.
But he is loved,
And I love him because I want to.