I love you - Never mind.

 Who loves you?

You do.

Who's always going to love you? Who is always going to take care of you?

You will.

That's right. Who is never going to be replaced?

Me.

That's right. I'm not going to replace you. You are not going to be replaced by anyone, okay? Because I love you.

And I love you.

You were right. I was never replaceable.

I was disposable.

I was never valued enough for replacement to be a concern. I was only ever something usable, something that didn't need to be truly taken care of because I was always going to be thrown away.

Something convenient to serve a temporary purpose, and then be cast aside, forgotten, when my user decides I have no more value. Never mind that my flaws, my chips & cracks & knicks & scratches - they prove my ability to endure, to hold on, to keep doing what I'm doing, and learn how to do it better.

Never mind that I could almost explode with how much I want - no, need you to notice all I've done, acknowledge all I'm doing, and appreciate the things I undertake. Never mind that I have done what you ask, to be told it was unwelcome. Never mind that the qualities of me that you once declared prized above all - these same qualities now evoke exasperation, annoyance, even resentment.

And yet, when I hide or minimize them, I stand accused of keeping secrets, of being unwilling to share or trust, and am therefore declared unworthy of the same.

So many promises to be different than the others. So much affection & attention, as if drawing a well for one dying of thirst. So much time taken to hear me out, to listen, to lull me into the misplaced confidence that the showing of my vulnerabilities will be safeguarded, would be treated as the precious rarity it is.

Yet those too, are twisted, corrupted, weaponized, turned into knives used again & again to pierce the wounds already on my soul.

The most debilitating part is that it was never just you. It's happened so often that I can feel when that corner has been turned. I see the patterns as they form and understand how they change the whole picture. I comprehend the tragic futility of anything I do, or say, or feel.

And I mourn how very much I do feel.