In all honesty,
I wish you would stop trying to sell me on the idea of emotional need.
Every time we have met, I have given of myself so freely that your name could take up chapters in my autobiography. I have listened to your hopes, desires, and dreams so well, that you think of me, before saying I do to someone else at the altar. As if that consolation prize doesn’t make a mockery of the entire idea.

You perpetuate this need for emotional support and intimacy, but strike at my vulnerability with disgust, envious of a more steady foundation. I have listened to you share volumes of information that would make heads and heels turn and leave burning trails of dust behind them, I have given advice and guidance strong enough to calm the attack from anxiety and stem the tide of depression, as you cried your heart out.

And for all of this, I do not believe I am owed much.

I only ask that you stop selling me on the lie,
that emotional honesty is the missing ingredient to love, because I can stand being lied to, but I need you to stop using the words as a crutch,
if you have no respect for their meaning.