All the Ways to Say I Love You (version sad)

“I love you,” I said to her.

And she smiled back, and kissed my forehead, and tucked my sheets in and said it back.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he smiled back, and wrapped me in a hug, and said he loved me more, and that he’d be back from work by 9 and to remind my brother of the bill to pay.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he gave me that funny crooked smile and punched my arm and mumbled back you too, sis.

“I love you,” I said to them.

And they hugged me and said it back, grandma squeezing my hand and grandpa clapping me on the back, right before he made a morbid joke about death and seeing me sometime again--hopefully!

“I love you,” I said to her.

And she cried and hugged me and said we’d always be friends and she’d send me postcards and the moment she was back in town, I’d be her first call to grab a cocktail and catch up on life.

“I love you,” I said to her.

And she smiled across the dinner table and told me she loved me and that I was the best friend she could ever ask for.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he smiled uncomfortably and looked around, finally saying ditto.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he said it right back, without hesitation, before picking up his camouflage duffle bag and walking into the terminal.

“I love you,” I said to them.

And they wrapped me in a hug and gave me their joint birthday gift before leaving the restaurant to go back to their house.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And they pulled the sheet up, covering his face in finality.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And Buster the dog jumped and yipped and licked my face and I took it to mean that he meant it back.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he looked down at me, his arms around me, our lips still swollen, curled into a smile, and he whispered it right back.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he returned the smile and bent to kiss my forehead as I stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes, and he told me he’d be back around 5 as he grabbed his backpack and whisked out the door to his first class of the day.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he gave me a tight-lipped return smile and said it back, in passing, as he watched the TV. The Raiders were playing.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he stared back at me, eyes unreadable, body language mute, with nothing to say.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he shook his head and backed away, staring at me like I was a stranger.

“I love you,” I said to him.

And he repeated it back to me, only he made it past tense.

“But I love you,” I said to him.

And he told me it wasn't enough in the end.

And he told me it didn't matter in the end.

And he told me it was the end.

And 

Finally

I

said

nothing.