Love Spoke First

I

Love spoke first, but maybe it was always just lust…
I was the essence of your desire.
How wonderful it felt when you craved every single inch of my body.
How I reveled in the way that you yearned for me.
Nothing seemed greater than seeing the euphoric pleasure in your face as you caressed me.
Nothing felt better than being held in your strong arms after a passionate night of intimacy.
Maybe I should no longer care, but maybe I still do.

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
The image of my naked body seems to revolt you completely.
Suggesting that I go to the gym or eat smaller portions during meals does nothing but crush my self-esteem.
Joking that I should purchase some anti-aging cream might be funny to you, but is so hurtful to me.
Your insensitive comments about my appearance make me feel like I’m nothing more than an object to you.
Did I drive you away and force you to seek your pleasures outside of me? 
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be compelled to feel this responsibility?

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
The times that we should be most intimate, we are anything but that.
Emotionally, we are as disconnected as any two people could ever be.
I can feel it in your touch that I am not who you want.
I can hear it your grunts that I am not providing you with what you need. 
I can see it in your eyes that I will never feel relevant to you again.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?


II

Love spoke first, but maybe it was always just lust…
I was the essence of your desire.
How important I felt when you shared with me your hopes, your fears, your dreams, and your wonders.
How I loved it when we talked about a lifetime that we could not wait to experience together.
Nothing seemed greater than seeing that devilish smile on your face as we fulfilled each other’s sexual desires. 
Nothing felt better than being held in your strong arms after a passionate night of intimacy.
Maybe I should no longer care, but maybe I still do.

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
Often it takes every single ounce of courage to try and entice you.
Only to have you brush me away with the flick of your wrist, a not so subtle term that shows your disinterest.
When I tell you I want only to make you happy, you acknowledge me with nothing more than a resentful sigh.
I am scared to ask questions in fear that you’ll drive me further away; I cling to your every word. 
Your lack of desire for my touch cripples me; I cry myself to sleep each night wondering what I’ve done wrong.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
Your extreme sexual desires both revolt and scare me.
I’m forced to question when this started and how it originated.
I feel disgusted by some of your perverse requests.
I feel degraded by some of your outright demands.
I feel completely violated by what you do to me without even asking me first if it’s okay.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?


III

Love spoke first, but maybe it was always just lust…
I was the essence of your desire.
How special it felt when we explored our sexual fantasies together.
Pleasuring each other in ways previously unknown was a gift in itself.
The promise of my body to you and yours to me felt heaven-sent. 
Nothing felt better than being held in your strong arms after a passionate night of intimacy.
Maybe I should no longer care, but maybe I still do.

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
When you force yourself on me with such aggression, it makes what we are doing feel like anything but love.
Often it hurts. Often it feels demeaning. Often if feels less than human.
I want to tell you to stop, but I feel like that will only drive us apart even further.
I feel violated. I feel worthless. I feel like nothing more than a piece of meat at your disposal. 
When I go to touch you afterward, you fling my arm away from your body with a hostility previously not known.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be. 
Your computer is full of utter filth; the websites you frequent cause me to become nauseous.
You seem totally controlled and mesmerized by the images and videos on your screen.
The way you objectify these young, naked women makes me feel plain, aged, and inferior. 
The way you salivate at the screen destroys any self-worth I ever had as your companion.
Your attraction is to women who are faceless and nameless; it’s as if I completely disgust you.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?


IV

Love spoke first, but maybe it was always just lust…
I was the essence of your desire.
I saw a trueness in your eyes and a belief in your words that made me feel like I was the one who filled your soul.
I felt a genuineness in my heart that I was yours and you were mine until the end of time.
My life seemed perfect, something I had only previously read about in a fairy tale or had seen in my dreams.
Nothing that felt greater than being held in your strong arms after a passionate night of intimacy.
Maybe I should no longer care, but maybe I still do.

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be.
You spend hours completely enthralled with this filth; it consumes you in ways that you are unable to recognize.
You face your days with sadness and inadequacy that I could have never envisioned. 
I want to help, but when I ask you about it, you just get irritated. You always seem so angry.
Your temperament flicks faster than a light switch. I wonder how your rage can intensify so quickly.
I want nothing more than to show that I sill care and that I still love the man behind this mask. 
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?

But you are no longer the man I deemed you to be.
Is having sex with me even the least bit gratifying for you anymore?
You don’t kiss me. You barely even touch me. You derive no satisfaction in trying to pleasure me at all. 
When you fail to reach climax, you just get annoyed and toss me to the side.
Is that your way of telling me that it’s my fault that you can’t achieve sexual gratification?
I’m your wife, not your object or your toy, and certainly not your depository.
Though I know I should not, I feel responsible. Why must I be forced to feel this responsibility?