Love is not gifts, not flowers, not necklaces.

Love is not wanting to kill my favourite musician.

Love is not fancy worded poetry; look how sad I am, I lost her.

Love is not throwing in the bin the watercolour she did your cat.

Love is not berating me for hours and hours.

Love is not a trophy.

Love is not without care.

Love is not lies, not rumours, not bullying.

Love is not hurting my child.

Love is not dead eyes.

Love is not my having to look after you, all the goddamn time.

Love is not taking all of my time, never giving me a chance to draw, a chance to be me.

Love is not picking fights; my birthday, my mother’s operation, my study, my friend’s death.

Love is not linking your actions to the cruelty I saw inflicted on women by men. In searching for help I was told to ignore it, just go to sleep.

He’s having a bad time.

Love is not traumatizing.