Love is a word flung round so easily. I've strung myself out on boys I loved but knew too well, and aside from being unobtainable before midnight on Saturdays were unsustainable contrasts to a person like me.
I don't love you. I never loved you. I barely like you. I love the smell of you, the feel of you, waking up beside you and cracking jokes with you. I weep for that smile, the way you can't speak in public, pick the label off your beer and listen in on conversations because you can't make your own. My mother says you sound like you're boring at parties.
I say no. It makes me feel special that you have things to say to me. In fact, until I heard you speak I never thought much of you. I think it's why they say you don't think much of me these days, only I heard those silly things that you told me.