The truth is you never loved me.
You loved yourself.
You loved yourself with me.
You loved yourself in the house that we bought.
You loved yourself playing a character you created.
You love being right.
You loved being “the grown up.”
You tolerated me because it served you.
It let you stay in the illusion of happiness.
YOU had the freedom to do what you wanted because you knew I would take care of the rest.
Like the hired help you grew up with.
A perfunctory fuck every 3 months to keep me in line.
Not much of a price to pay for YOUR freedom, your passion.
Now that I recognize the truth, it saddens me.
How did I not see it before? Or did I see it and not value myself enough to acknowledge it?
18 years spent on a love that never was what I needed it to be.