“No one will love you the way I do”

Yes. And no.

Yes, no one because I am me and they are them. Yes, because the way I love is different from the way they do. I crave for time, for presence, for undivided attention. In those moments, I watch observantly what angers you — to know your heart. I listen carefully to the words you use repetitively or words that trail off in your sentences — to know your mind. I take note of what you smile of unconsciously — to know your soul. I want to feel, to touch: the innocent kind. I like your hands in mine so I know how hard you’ve worked that day. I look for those small pecks you place on my cheek or forehead, as if you’re gently safeguarding what you believe is yours. I stay silent in your embrace because it has always felt like home. And them? They will probably tell you that their favorite food, color, and thing to do is exactly the same as yours. They would laugh and giggle to everything you’d say, so that they catch your attention and try to keep it. They will tell their friends that they like your hair, your clothes, and every other superficial thing. So yes, they won’t love you like I love you.

No, because my love isn’t the greatest, isn’t the best. I am not the standard, and not the best for you. I get nervous when you don’t communicate back: I seem to have some form of social anxiety. I cry at your word choices because you’re not the most sensitive person I know. I pressure you to make time for me because what I currently know is never enough — I want to know more. Someone out there would love you more than I do — and I don’t know if I have accepted that already. She’ll fit effortlessly to what you’re looking for. In one second, you’ll know that this is it (or maybe not, but you get my point). She will waltz in your life, and this time, you won’t let go.

So even if you won’t, I still hope you remember what my love was like. Because that love was the last kind.

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