You don't love me.
I feel it when you roll over at night,
too uncomfortable to hold me in your sleep.

I feel it in the cold, idle status of "read" messages -
seen for hours, but never answered.

I feel it in your chosen decision to say
any other combination of words
when I tell you that I love you.

I feel it in your decided silence.

I feel it in your chosen absence.

Maybe you did love me once,
but not anymore.