Dirty Dishes

Somewhere between setting the table and washing the dishes everything came crashing down on me.

How the tides changed when the family came around to put in their two cents about this.

How a three piece can be mistaken for a penny when under judgement of ignorance.

The weight of everyone else's opinions putting a strain in the way I view myself and the way you view me.

"I don't give a fuck what other people think!" He screams while his actions show differently.

I can feel the change in your stare and the doubt in your words and yet you fucking sit here and lie to me.

I am the only cloth that kept you warm when your heart was cold and I deserve what I signed up for...

Not this...

Not the dirty dishes stacking up...

not the words written disgustingly in steak sauce telling me I'm not enough.

What is love but a word if you only love me when no ones looking?

I have fed you all of my secrets,
set us off on the right foot,
and still you look for the fault in the truth.

"What do you love about me?" I asked him one evening over whiskey and movies.

"I love how you listen to me even when the subject is awkward, I love you're smile and the way your eyes light up when you see me, I love the way you hold me.... I love you because you're you."

"What do you love about me?" I asked him that evening after the family put their two cents on the dirty dishes in steak sauce as I struggled to wipe them clean.

Shrugs..."I love that you're real."

How did the answer get so short?

Tears threaten my eyes...

As answers become shorter,

As touches become fewer,

As smiles fade,

As love seems to be ready to flee the open door.

I wonder...

Does he love me anymore?