He buys airline tickets to Montreal

and we have dinner in

a small French restaurant

and he leans me up against the door

and puts his lips next to my ear

and asks me breathlessly to marry him.

 

But he doesn’t tell me he loves me.

 

He shows me his house and says

“What if you live here with me?”

And I say, “What if we take out this wall?”

And what if we have that kind of kitchen?

And he leans me up against the counter

and puts his lips next to my ear

and tells me earnestly that we can have

any kind of kitchen.

 

But he doesn’t tell me he loves me.

 

On Valentine’s Day

he has music cued up to

Ella Fitzgerald singing My Funny Valentine,

And Willy Nelson singing My Funny Valentine,

And Tony Bennett singing My Funny Valentine,

and he leans me against the back of my chair

and puts his lips next to my ear

and tells me softly that I am his funny valentine.

 

But he doesn’t tell me he loves me.

 

I tell him I need to hear those words.

I want to hear them.

I tell him it’s important to me.

 

He listens.

and he thinks about it

 

And he gets up and comes over to me

and leans down and puts his lips next to my ear.

“I do say I love you,” he whispers…

 

“But you haven’t been listening.”

 

And I see Montreal

I see the house we live in

I hear My Funny Valentine

 

and it all washes over me

and I know he’s right.

He does tell me he loves me.

 

But I haven’t been listening.

 

Relephant Link:

But, He tells Me He Loves Me, All the Time. {Poem}

Author: Carmelene Siani

Editor: Emma Ruffin

Photo: Robert Huffstutter/Flickr