The Definitions of Love and Abuse

My father used to ask me why women stayed in abusive relationships.
When I told him about my boyfriends, he always asked me why I didn’t just leave;
just put a note on the kitchen counter one morning before they wake up and never go back.
I asked my father why men abuse women to whom they whisper “I love yous” like apologies. He did not answer.
…
I found a boy who set my ribcage on fire and illuminated my lungs with every breath.
His fingertips were like fireflies and my body was a warm summer night.
The lanterns on his lips lit up every corner of my being until my body could be seen from space.
We grew up together. I spent more than half of my life loving him.
I never saw my parents love each other and he watched as his parents love devoured them and spit them out thirty miles away from one another.
We were never taught the definition of love.
He told me he would die without me, and I thought that was love.
He told me that he just wanted me to be happy, but that if I left him it would destroy him.
When he squeezed my hand tight, it was not because he loved me, but because he wanted to remind me that I was his.
When I told him I needed space, he suffocated me with “I need yous” and then called me selfish,
and I believed him.
…
My father asked me why I didn’t just leave him.
I told him, “It’s hard to let go of all that history.”
I could barely remember life without him.
I told him, “Because hope.”
I blinded myself into believing that maybe, this time it would be different;
maybe we were capable of change.
…
When I told people about him, they scoured my body for bruises as proof
and when they found nothing there they stopped listening;
they were just looking for cuts that went skin deep,
nothing more.
…
It took me ten years to learn the definition of emotional abuse,
and I still don’t know the definition of love.