i love you

I love you, she said.
She screamed it into my face.
It was as though she was trying to convince me.

I love you, spat at me, then said again,
this time in a kind of indifferent monotone,
like,
I found my sweater, or
Looks like rain…

I love you, she said, again…months later,
then berated me, again.

And the pain lessened
with every
I love you.

The churning wasn’t there.
The pain subsided and I understood then.

Sometimes
I love you means
I hate me, and I hate you because you don’t.

 

 

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