But do you really? Do you actually love me like you say? ‘Cause you’ve told me that before, over and over, but this isn’t a kind of love I’m familiar with!
According to you, you only stay with me because you love me. You blow up and wreck things, but you stay. And I should be so grateful that you choose to remain, and yell, and hit and throw things because — if you had any good sense — you would leave me alone and nobody else would tolerate me.
And, you know, I’ve told myself that, too. Sure, she has a bit of a temper. Sure, she might fly off the handle sometimes, but she really does love me. Why else would she stay with someone so weak, so incompetent, so… pathetic?
You’ve said it, others have said it, I’m just sensitive. She’s a woman, she can’t — I just need to man up, right?
I tried so hard to convince myself it’s true, and maybe it is. Maybe you’re not lying but — if this is what you call love — darling, love me less. I don’t know how much more I can take. If this is your love, then by all means hate me. Loathe me. Leave me. But, for all that is good in this world, please stop loving me, or, at the very least, love me less.