I Do Not Love You, Because Loving You Would Kill Me


I have always believed that when one claims to be in love, one is either greatly blessed or completely foolish.

I have never claimed to be in love.

For I believe in the sacredness that lies in the word ‘love’. To utter “I love you” requires great courage, commitment and suffering. Hence, I dare not claim to love you.

No, I do not love you.

I just see you in my head and hope that life treats you well. I just witness violence in the papers and pray that you are kept safe and sound. I just hear a friend speaks of you and wish that your plans are working out in the best way possible.

Every time I bow my head in supplication, I include that one syllable of your name. Every moment I experience joy, I wish all the happiness in the world for you.

No, I do not love you.
Yet I promise you I will wait.

Against my intuition, against my logic and standards, I told you I will wait for you. Wait for you to finally find the courage to give your commitment. Wait for you to finally decide that I am worth your time and effort. Wait for you to make me your priority. Wait for you to be ready and choose me.

So, I waited, all the while knowing at the back of my head that I am not the one and will never be the one.

My heart refuses to acknowledge what my mind already knows. I still choose to hope. I still hold on to the fact that perhaps you will be inspired to cross the bridge someday. Maybe a change of heart on your part.

No, I do not love you.

I wouldn’t know how to after destroying my own heart by waiting.

It isn’t your fault, really. I was foolish to believe I could make a change. Dumb enough to allow myself dangled in a limbo of uncertainty. Idiotic enough to let myself compromise on the standards I held on for years. An imbecile to grant you the permission to make me feel insufficient and doubt my self-worth.

To say that I am heartbroken is an understatement. To know that you truly desire me and yet not choose me is devastating. I have no regrets cringing every time I see pieces of you in the little things you got for me.

I would willingly withstand again the pain of listening to your voice every time the song you sang for me comes up on my playlist. Or the panic of meeting you somewhere and address myself as a mere friend of yours. I savour the suffering in knowing that when I see you again, I will force a brave smile and get closure at last.

For these precise reasons, I must walk away.

I choose to detach my heart and escape this endless cycle of self-inflicted torture. I must preserve my last ounce of dignity and quit being a mere courtesy. For these concrete facts, I choose myself.

No, I do not love you.

Because how can I love you when I failed to love myself in the first place?