I don’t know what to do with my I love you feelings. 

I love Boo. Not loved, LOVE. I never knew love could hurt like this. Never in my life have I felt such a chasm of loss. I thought I saw him the other day and escaped inside my car before the sobs overtook me. I can’t help but think of his children and look at my children. It all tumbles together. His baby will have no memory of him. His elder will have poisonous memories provided by her mother. I want to climb high on a mountain or swim deep out to sea and shout until my voice dies in the wind “I LOVE YOU BOO”. Instead I will wake up every single day for the rest of however long my life is and my brother won’t be there. I don’t know what to do with my I love yous when they bubble up and spill over. 

I love Chad. Love. I suppose he loves me but it isn’t the love I need from him. I feel like a lost puppy being kicked out of the way, sitting on the porch looking for scraps. He occasionally walks out onto the porch and remembers I’m there. Sometimes he has a treat, other times he walks by ignoring me. But I’m there. I want to not love him anymore. It would be better in the end if I moved off the porch. I want to lick his hand and whisper my love and have it returned. Instead I’m left with a thousand memories and a broken heart. I don’t know what to do with myself when the love I have for him spills out all over the porch. I’m not ready to not love him. But I hope it happens soon. 

I love Heather. Love her. But she isn’t mine anymore. My love for her is stagnant. I miss our conversations so much. Now we pass like acquaintances at the grocery store just standing near the peaches and exchanging pleasantries. Except those rare moments when she’s feeling alone and vulnerable. I imagine her tiny body lying in bed cured around her kitten holding her phone in the dark. I want to tell her to come be with me in my crazy house with my crazy kids. I don’t dare. Her life is full of adventure and excitement. But I tell her I love her and I hope she doesn’t feel alone in the dark. My I love yous illuminate her phone and spread out into her bedroom. That’s as far as they go before they die on the floor like an annoying roach. 

I love Sarah. This child of mine is off living her life full of parties and coffee and stress. She’s becoming someone I don’t recognize anymore. I want to snatch her back to me and tell her over and over that she is loved. I am not ready to become the occasional phone call when she feels guilty for the time and distance. I want to call her when the love from my womb throbs heavy. But I don’t because time and distance makes me unsure. So I wait until the time and distance isn’t so much that my love doesn’t ache from the stretch. 

I glance at my other two children and say I love you over and over and over and over again. My I love yous fill their ears until they shush me with their I love yous. 
The rest of my I love yous that go unheard strangle me.

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