Dear Narcissus

You keep saying you love me. Tell yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. I know the truth.

You don't love me; you don't even know me. You love it when I do and say the things you like. You love it when I provide a sounding board for your thoughts, your ideas, your philosophies. But you get frustrated when I don't do those things. I am neither a puppet nor an echo chamber. If you loved me, you'd like it when I disagreed with you or did something unexpected. But you don't and that's why this is not love.

If it was love, I'd feel better about the sacrifices I've made for you -- if it was love, they wouldn't feel so much like sacrifices. If it was love, I'd feel supported, not suppressed. If it was love, I'd feel like we were partners or equals. If it was love, it wouldn't feel so much like a one-way street.

If it was love, I'd be searching for a reason to stay and not looking for a reason to leave.

So I repeat: You keep saying you love me. But it's not love.

What you love is the way I make you feel. What you love is the reflection of yourself that you see in my eyes. That's not love -- that's narcissism.

If it was love, you'd let me go.