I hate you...but I love you
I hate how deeply you got under my skin.
I hate that out of everyone, it had to be you who triggered something in me that I can’t stop. That you came in so quietly, almost by accident… and now I can’t get you out of me, even if I wanted to.
And I really do want to.
I want to wake up in the morning and not think about whether you texted.
I want to stop overanalyzing every sentence, every “seen,” every silence between us.
I want to stop hoping.
But I can’t.
Because you gave me something that wasn’t enough… but it was exactly enough to break me.
You gave me moments that stayed with me more than anything else.
You gave me the feeling that there was something between us.
And then you disappeared into uncertainty, into “we’ll see,” into a space where you can’t stand—only wait.
And I’m still standing there.
And I hate myself for it.
I hate that I let you get that close.
That I believed you.
That from nights, a sentences, a looks, I built something that started to mean more to me than it should have.
And the worst part is, I still don’t know if you felt it too… or if I was just another stop in your life.
Because if I meant more, it wouldn’t be like this.
You wouldn’t have left me hanging between “maybe” and “nothing.”
You wouldn’t have left me wondering whether you think about me, or if I’m just a memory that’s already faded for you.
And you know what’s the worst part of all?
Even though I see all of this.
Even though I can admit it to myself.
Even though I know I should walk away…
a part of me would take you back in a second.
And that scares me.
Because it means I don’t have control over it.
That you have a place in me you didn’t earn—not the way you treat it.
And I’m trying to get out of this.
I’m trying to let you go.
I’m trying to stop wanting you.
I’m trying to stop imagining that one day you’ll turn around and finally be sure about me.
But the truth is… it still pulls me back.
And maybe it’s not love.
Maybe it’s just a combination of what you gave me… and what you didn’t.
But whatever it is, it left a mark in me.
And I’ll have to get through it on my own.
Without you.
Or maybe not—maybe a miracle happens. Hope dies last.