I hate the way you look at me.

I hate your oversized sweatshirts

and how you are good at everything you do.

I hate when you text me on occasion.

I hate how I am an inconvenience to you.

I hate how you can make me feel so tall

but can instantly squish me to bits.

I hate how you know when I am upset

and I hate that you used to care.

I hate when those nights play through my head

because I remember every little detail.

I hate that you spew believable lies and play mind games.

I hate how you make me wonder,

make me want,

make me lonely.

Why do you leave me feeling tangled in worthlessness

and why do I continue to come back?

Wishing that all that was left was,

you and I.

I hate that I blame myself for your faults.

I hate that I want to believe you

but I know I can’t.

I hate that I let you manipulate me

I hate that you’re what I think about when I wake up

and go to bed.

I hate that I can’t stand to see you with anyone else.

I hate that my tumblr reminds me of you.

But the thing I hate most,

is that I can’t hate you.

I don’t hate you.

Not a lot.

Not a little.

Not a bit.

Love is beautiful and desirable.

Hate is chilled and sharp.

But did you ever think that maybe,

Just maybe,

love and hate can be the same?