Remembering You

But did you ever love me? You asked that with such ease. Not knowing the amount of thought that has been put into it. You expect ‘yes I did’ with no explanation. Not the response you had received. She looked so graceful, with all the pain you were about to experience. But did you love me? Was a question you feared to know the answer of. She simply said no. You look so heart broken. Not knowing what to do, you begin to walk away. But her voice stops you as she continues.

I did not love the pain I felt, when you would take me back to your place. Only to get one thing out of me. I did not love the jealousy you had, because ‘you are beautiful, any guy would be lucky to have you, even if it is your other boyfriend’ or ’why were you ignoring me. Probably talking to your side piece.” And me having to explain that you were my only. But my words were not enough if you continued to ask. I did not love the moments my race became the worst for me. When being white made your family completely judge me. I was automatically a country girl. Rich and stuck up, before you and them even got to know me. I was automatically labeled as a rich snob. Preppy or a brat. I did not love when me being white meant I was judged. Before you got to know the girl, who stayed by your side, especially when she hated who she became.

So, no I did not love you. I did not love the acts you showed of annoyance towards me. Having me constantly worried if I asked something what you would think of me. Constantly hearing ‘why don’t you just trust me?’ or ‘take my word’. To you I was a silly girl you felt lust for. Annoyed by the words she spilt because you did not believe I needed the answers I asked for. I did not love that I had to have ‘you have to serve him because Mexican culture means the woman serves the man in anyways’. As confused as one can be, I believed that people were no longer slaves to anyone. A woman was her own person, she did the things she wanted to. She had no obligation to serve anyone but her own self. But in this instant, I was wrong. ‘You have to serve him, before another female does. That means doing anything he asks of you.’ But how can a culture expect that of someone who is not a part of that culture. I did not love that I had to ‘serve’ you. It was not my doing that you were raised in a culture where females or your woman had to serve you your food or do things for you. I was never raised like that.

I did not love the constant over thinking. Feeling as if I was never enough. Because you were secretive. Always flirting with others in front of. Making me feel so insecure about myself, because those you were flirting with were ten times more beautiful than I was. I did not love the moments we would be laying together and you would say ‘I love you’ to get sex. But my love was not there. I was an object for you to penetrate. I was this being you did not really want. A sex toy. To be abused whenever you please.

When you ask, ’But did you love me?” my answer will always be no. If I did, I would have stayed. I would be there by your side with all the pain I was in. I would not have questioned you. Or how you felt. I would have been happy with who we were. At the end of the day, I never loved you. I was forcing myself to stay because no one really cares for a girl who has already been in love and is not capable of confiding in others. I stayed for that time because what if things change. What if you were to adapt and not use me like an object.

You will constantly look at me like all I did was lie. But I told you the truth. Can you say the same? Can you answer, ‘but did you love me?’ as I have so publicly stated? Can you say the love you felt was not just lust filled with lies to damage my heart?