I should have told her I loved her

It's been five years since Sarah died. Five years. It still feels like yesterday sometimes, you know? Like I'm gonna wake up and she'll be here, yelling at me for leaving my socks on the floor. God, I miss her yelling.

We were together for ten years. Ten damn years. And not once, not a single freakin' time, did I ever tell her I loved her. I *showed* her, I thought. I brought her coffee in bed every morning, even when I was running late. I listened to her complain about her awful boss. I fixed the leaky faucet, even though I hate plumbing. Isn't that love?

But the words… the words never came out. I was always so afraid of being vulnerable, of sounding cheesy. I thought actions spoke louder. What a load of bull.

Now she's gone, and all those unsaid words are just stuck in my throat, choking me. I replay our last conversation in my head a million times. It was so ordinary, so… nothing. She was going to the store to get milk. I was working on the car. We said 'see you later'. Just like any other day.

If I could go back, just for one minute, I'd tell her. I'd grab her, look her in the eyes, and say, "Sarah, I love you. More than anything." I wouldn't care if it sounded stupid or cliché. I just want her to know. I needed her to know. Now it’s too late. And I hate myself for it every single day. Don’t make my mistake. Tell people you love them. Please.