You Tell Me I’m Not In Love With You Anymore


You tell me I am not in love with you anymore.

That this has never been about you,
it was always me.

So me saying it now is just for show,
is me trying to rope you back into something
you stopped hoping for a long time ago.

You tell me I am not in love with you anymore,
and I agree. That’s not what this is, not yet.
So, I won’t say it.

Instead, I’ll say the moon has never looked
as good as it did when we followed it home together.

Will say I remember the dessert we made
from random ingredients we found that fit
with our shared names.

Will say I remember “Jupiter Love” and hate that
Trey Songz still makes me tremble like,
this fucker comes on the radio and I want it instantly,
Who can I blame? You? Him? The producer that made his shit
so sexy? I don’t know. But I’m thinking of you and the night
and the want, even if I shouldn’t.

Will say I remember a hotel in Anaheim and feeling like
I was about to explode when you came out of the elevator,
like no body was ever as meant for your body as mine was,
like we wore magnets for skin and if I fell down in that hallway,
I knew you were going to pick me up again.

Does love stand the test of time?
Does it ever really evaporate?

Maybe I don’t love you anymore.

But my heart hasn’t forgotten.

What do I call that?

What’s the word for something like this?