An inner monologue

Hate is such an expressive, passionate word; so strong yet expresses such fragility.

One cannot know hate unless one has loved before.

It is a word that contradicts itself.
Yin and yang.

It is not a word I like to use – it takes too much effort.

But I hate you.

I really, really do.

I hate that feeling you give me; I don’t know how to describe it but it is unbearable.

That pain, is unique.

One of its kind.

One that only you can inflict.

The thought of you triggers that emotion.

I hate how my emotions are almost crystal-like in their fragility when it involves you.

Just when I thought I’ve finally gotten over you; you stick your feet back into my path.

And the bloody cycle starts all over again.

I know you are no good, EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF MY PHYSICAL, PYSCHOLOGICAL self says so.

But like a drug you are just too good to quit.

I thought of running away – I just end up running in circles, back to places where I know I’ll find you.

I tried drowning my phone and killing Facebook but decided against it – I don’t see why I should isolate myself from everyone else because of you.

And so I come back to you.

My hate for you, rose from an unexplainable attraction and love.

I’m beginning to suspect I am masochistic.

I think I keep coming back because I secretly enjoy this torture.

Do I really enjoy this pain you’ve caused me?

Or perhaps I like playing the hapless victim.

I don’t know anymore.



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