Ironic. I, the one who talks about power of words, must admit: I am a bitch, when I’m angry. I swear. And without a blink I say “Fuck you!” Not always a loving wish for pleasant activities, no. Sometimes it’s genuine angry, frustrated, leave-me-alone, you-asshole, fuck off.
Oh, how hurt He was, when I said it the first time. “I would never say something like that to you!” He swore.
He still says that He loves me. I don’t. I avoid lying. So should He. Because words of love don’t mean a thing if actions declare indifference.
I do not need midnight I love you’s. I need midday I’m here’s. I don’t need a kiss goodbye, if all I get when you are here are moody glares and annoyed hisses. Just… Fuck off.
And the most ironic part of it all? It’s when I stop saying “fuck off” – that’s when I gave up. I don’t care anymore.
I’ve stopped saying it, yes.
Alenka H., 2021