...And it wasn't the ***.
It couldn't have been the mood shifts.
The way you lifted my spirits doused upon by the days end.
...And it wasn't the emotion.
It couldn't have been the quiet,  "I'm fine." Without a word spoken.
The I love you seemingly through gnashed teeth.
...And it wasn't the kisses.
Latent anger retraced with soft open lips.
Conversations through wilting eyes, the irony of them being so wet.
...And it wasn't the touch
The way even now my body alights when not a fingertip is present.
Hands sliding down my beard laden cheek, feeling the sincerity through every flicked whisker.
...And it wasn't your body.
Soundlessly resting while I traced your shape beneath the blankets.
The way your hips moved as if you were dancing, and all you were doing was talking.
...And it wasn't our future.
Names of our children, without a filled chapel.
Arousing romps about this beautiful country, it's borders ours to conquer.
...And it wasn't you.
It was my drinking, and I curse the bottle I've now since set down.
I've never cried so hard, hated so much, looked for darkness in all hours of light.
...And if I could I'd want that one last word to be a phrase caught in your head, remembered before bed, I love you.

...I'm sorry.