I opened my own poetry account it would mean the world if you guys checked it out.
The almost hatred.
The almost hatred.
I hate the things that are left in between.
I hate that we're stuck in the nothingness.
The almost love, the almost no contact.
The almost awkward, the almost future.
I hate that I stayed quiet.
I hate that I didn't say something that day.
I hate that I repressed my anger.
I hate that you didn't do what was right.
I hate that I have never had the strength to say something.
I hate that you still do little things that are ours.
I hate that you have little crumbs of you all over my life.
I hate that you wouldn't kiss me in that crappy station.
I hate that we buried that moment as if never happened.
I hate that you told me 20 minutes before, that we were just acquaintances.
The hug and the three seconds of longing for something more.
And that neither of us took the step.
And we played it as nothing.
You pretend so well, my love.
You should get a fucking award for this.
So you could put it amongst all of your lies.
And then I realized that we will stay in the almost...
That I will have to cherish these moments and days for myself.
All of your promises.
"I don't want you to leave Chaos... I don't know if I will, but if you do it I would hate that..."
And the question of why didn't it happen keeps lingering in my brain.
Why I must always overthink the same things?
The station, the Diet Coke, and your bloody smile live with me.
It is awful losing someone who was never yours.
I hate your poems, I hate that your last published poem has my name written in secrecy.
I hate that you still care about me, but you won't look at my face.
I hate that I won't hear you call me "Casper", "silly" and" bigheaded gal".
And that I won't refer to you as "Mr.Ego", "Darling" and "Love".
I hate that we won't be all cuddly again watching silly mems.
I hate that you don't accompany me to places.
I hate that I can't tell you that I cut her off.
I hate that we won't be in that last August lying down talking about nothing and everything.
I hate that you even made me believe that the story of us was just a story.
I hate that January's hug didn't turn into what it screamed to be.
It screamed kiss. We know that you and I, and whoever reads this.
My eyes have always shone when you were around.
Life was easier when we pretended it was nothing.
That our friendship; Was just a very special one.
I hate the weight of that stupid hug. That your hands remained as weight in my back, and that mine stayed on your neck. And that it went by a few seconds, wondering, and neither of us, made the step forward.
And that I thought, now it is. And no.
He's going to do it! He didn't.
Of course, not. Because it's easier to write about it, right poet boy?
I run away from you, right?
And you left, leaving me with the words hanging, you promised you wouldn't do it. And you did.
Do your promises have any truth?
I hate that I still feel your hands on my back.
I hate that I still care about you.
I hate that you used your friend as your replacement.
I hate that you still look for me, but don't ask about it.
I hate the last words of our last real conversation.
"What it's meant to be will be."
I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!
I hate that you still haven't returned my book.
I hate that it's a constant reminder that you still have a tiny piece of me.
And I that now, after all of this time, is when you wanna read it.
I hate that every time I listen to Taylor Swift I hear your rants.
I hate that our friends can't be in the same place with both of us.
I hate to hate.
I hate the almost kiss.
I hate the way you pulled away.
I hate that you didn't understand why I was so angry for a month.
I hate that whenever Cucu asked if it was my anger something more than just your cruel words, I lied. To protect that moment and you, from the truth.
I hate that every time I tried to go back to being close to you, you pulled away.
But yeah, your text messages were still there. It's easier to write than to feel, right poet boy?
It's easier to win awards than to accept the truth.
I hate that you are such a fucking coward.
And I hate that I still love you, to someone who's so convinced it's so hard to be loved. And I hate your stupid lies.
I hate the almost...
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