"Probably. I love you."

The innocent crave to remain breathing ignorance for oxygen.
But you see, I am not one of the innocent.
I am not ignorant.
I am not blind or dumb or an average daily victim to being used.
But how I fell weak by the grasp of your palm, how the gears in my brain stopped turning by your reassuring words.
"Probably. I love you."
I let you seep your sad, hollow, discontented and dishonest soul into mine.
I let you allow chemicals in my body to swirl and rekindle with the familiarity of yours.
I let you grab my skin as if it were the fur of a dog, kiss my lips as if I actually meant something, bring me physical pain because what I thought the outcome would be was far more fleeting than a lapse of pink turned to red and ice-healing soreness.
"Probably. I love you."
You told me it was okay.
You told me I was so beautiful or hot or sexy.
You told me "God, I love you."
And fuck, aren't I such an idiot for believing in you.
Aren't I so fucking stupid for thinking things may actually work out.
Aren't I so horrifyingly ignorant to truly trust you.
God it seems as if my trust meant nothing to you.  My trust was the dog shit on the bottom of your shoe, the slam shut of the backdoor after a fight, the bags under your eyes resulting from a late night adventure.
"Probably. I love you."
In a state of anger and fear you allowed yourself to think from the south and not with your beautiful heart or crazy incredible brain.
You penetrated my morals with temptation and promises of a better tomorrow.
Because of all of this shit:
I am damaged.
I am broken.
I am struggling for breath.
I am struggling to eat.
I am struggling to cope with the idea that the knot in my stomach will continue to remain entangled.
"Probably. I love you."
I never knew to this extent what it felt like to be used.
I never understood the pressure that could come collapsing down onto me, because you have never felt heavier.
The primal urge is no excuse to feed on the weak and drink their body away.
I feel my skin fading and my being has become overturned by shame.
Because to you, I was just a body. 
To you, I was just a doll. 
To you, I was just a way to get what you wanted. 
But now that you don't want me you string me out on country laundry lines. 
The clothespin security of surrounding sheets and pillowcases only make me more remember the unbearable pain.
"Probably. I love you."
Well you know what, I fucking loved you.
I fucking do love you.
But my love is as meaningful to you as your broken promises and blue sapphires sitting on the bottom of my purse.
Because now, I don't owe you comfort.
Now, I don't owe you sympathy.
Now, I don't owe you advice.
Yet I continue to be there for you like a dog to a master but you are not my master.
I am burning up in the external hell you have sent me to.
I am starving from my fast away from happiness.
I am dying because your words only betray me more with each fleeting day. 
"I promise"
"Forever and Always"
"Probably. I love you."
Well, fuck your empty words.
Fuck your spoken or physical symbols of promise.
Fuck your dishonesty, your betrayal, your continuation of using and abusing my emotions and body.
Fuck that you're dying right now.
Fuck that I wish I could be there for you.
Fuck that we can't talk except for when you need my help.
Fuck the fact that my help isn't enough for you.
I am truly, truly, truly sorry I couldn't be enough for you.
That you're "Probably" mindset didn't end up working out.
That loving me just couldn't fulfill you or make your soul feel sufficient.
I'm sorry you learned from me all too well how to hate yourself.
But I am not sorry for trying to make you happy.
I am not sorry for trying to love you for as long and as hard as I could.
I am not sorry for taking risks to try to make you, and I, and us healthy.
I am not sorry that now I am seeking any possible way to smile since you stole that away for far too long.
"Probably. I love you."
Well thank you.
Thank you for letting me know that probably is not yes.
That probably is not a promise.
That probably is not forever.
That probably is not good enough.
That probably is meaningless and not a true answer.
That probably is not a reason to let your guard down, to put your heart on your sleeve, or engage in lustful encounters you thought were driven by love.

I think you are a wonderful human being. 
I hope one day you could be extremely happy. 
I loved being your everything and best friend. 
But "Probably. I love you." is not an excuse to use me because of your own selfish desires. 



Probably...... Not. But I still love you.