So he says he loves me.

Awww, how cute. Really, a very sweet sentiment. Even if I have only known him for a month, and we've only had time to see eachother every once in a while... doesn't matter to him. He's come to know my words, and he thinks there's some truth to be found there. And for him that's enough. Which is all very well, but...

I don't believe in love.

Fairy tales of love and romance are for children. I stopped looking for my Prince long ago. Once I tried, I tried, back when I was naive, back when I thought it was worth something to have people near me. But it's no use looking for what doesn't exist.

Love doesn't exist.

No, I'm not just bitter and jaded, taking out my miserable experiences in past relationships on everyone I get close to. (Well, at least I don't think I am...) I'm willing to say I like someone, willing to let some of my guards down, willing to drop the mask on occasion. But my heart will always be my own.

I don't love him.

It's not that he isn't a great guy. He is, nicer than lots of others I've shared my life and my bed with in the past. I let him near me, that alone is a mark of the highest esteem, truly. But I don't love him.

I don't love anyone.

Even if I'm wrong and love does exist, I'm not capable of it. I live for myself first, and only. I'm too selfish to ever share myself with anyone. And I don't have anything else to give.

You say you love me...

But you don't even know me.