I hate hate hate that I still care.
That I still wonder how you are and what you are up to.
Hate when you said you knew we would be friends forever and I said I wasn't so sure. I hate that I was right.
I hate that you pushed me to the point where I wished you would go away and never come back.
I hate that my life has been so much better without you.
But you never treated me with the respect I thought I deserved.
The respect I learned to demand.
And I could never think of you as just a friend.
I hate that I miss you.
The way you always seemed to be so much more fun than everyone else.
So sophisticated and put together. Handsome. Witty. Strong. Boyish. Fun.
But in your presence I felt inarticulate, ordinary, boring, awkward, and not-good-enough.
I don't miss that at all.
I don't miss the way you made me cry.
Over and over and over again.
The way you seemed to regard me as the least important person you knew.
I don't miss the way you didn't know how to love me.
So I hate hate hate that I still care.
I hate hate hate that I love you.
And I hate, hate, hate that I can't hate you at all.