I Can't Love You

For three years,
I've been unable to love you,
Because you won't let me.

For the longest time, you've been the
Thing my life revolved around,
And the thing that left it empty.
I was measured, I was weighed,
I was found wanting.

I always offered you the pieces of my heart,
That you put back together,
With elastic superglue.
So that you or we could bounce it off the walls,
A couple more times.

I love you, and when you used to say  
'That's nice'
I'd get distant for a while,
Play with hearts outside our bed,
Just until my ego was re-inflated.
Because otherwise, I couldn't be the cocky,
Self assured person I used to pretend to be.
But now I am. I think. Even though I can't love you.

And now, it is only you.
Only you that I fall asleep next to.
Only you that I whisper to in the dead of night.
Only you that still says 'That's nice' when I mumble I love you.
Only you that will still tell people we're just friends.
Only you that doesn't want to scream it from the rooftops.

You did tell me three years ago,
I couldn't love you,
I promised I'd love you enough for both of us.

Believe it or not, I still implicitly do.
Because I still love being the one that can't love you.