I hate you

I do hate you. My mom told me to never use the word hate, but I sincerely hate you. I hate how you hurt me then, how you never intended to, but still left a scar still freshly bleeding. I hate how I let you heal the wound, and I promised to never touch the mark, yet every time I see the band-aid you put on my skin, my mind traced back to the things I want to bury in a Pandora box. You.

Hatred, maybe it’s too strong of a word to say, but when my mind wonders at night and loses its sanity, I curse you. I curse every single person you ever loved. I am jealous of the people you’d ever say the word ‘love’ to. I’d despise every thought of a shop-arranged flower gift for what other girls might have asked, haven’t they? I hate thinking about the lips you’ve touched and how you made them feel. I hate how I’d barely touch your skin. How dare they. You’re unfair.

You put some kind of a spell, some kind that makes me feel like I’m never there; invisible, recyclable, complementary, or nothing really. And next, you’d perform some sort of magic, some ways that make me feel like I’m in heaven, that you’ve built me a castle on top of everything. My brain registers every single moment of that joy — turns it into a drug so addictive, I am losing sense of my own being. I search for ways to maintain my sense of identity but even being me includes your name and can I tell you just how much I hate this? What do you do to me? My day no longer feels complete in your absence, and it will never be complete without you no matter what you do (don’t even dare claiming you do ! — Thank you, I will refuse your sympathy).

You like playing puzzles. But dear god, you won’t let me win. I swear I can see the picture even before you dare for me to guess it but you know I know and you will leave me silently waiting. And then I will think that I don’t know the picture. And so, I will feel stupid. And then I will follow your game and towards the end I know I’d fail. I’ll let you win your own puzzle. You like playing it in such a relaxed suspense too. Your eyes, your loud silence and for god’s sake, your mind, they torture me. Whatever this game you are doing, I hate how it kills my legacy.

My dear, I hate how you love me. I hate how I’d be wide awake and you‘d say, “sleep,” and right away the night seems to darken. It’s crazy how I’d jump off a cliff for you even if you told me the sky was never blue. I’d jump even when the ocean would drown me a thousand times. I’d run barefeet on the hot firing ground even if the sun has never been kind. You will hurt me, you said? How the heck did you say you will hurt me even more when you allowing my hands to let go was probably the worst pain I ever felt.

How did I let you, How did I let love, love me? How did I let myself jump even when I knew you’d never help me swim to the other end? You bend my soul to every direction and yet you always save me. Bring me home and make me laugh like the world is so close. But then I’d realize we are and we would be continents apart and it was never that close in the first place, and that’s because you’re not here.

Listening to your words, your words sound like melody. Yet I hate your lullaby.

Because I’m scared,

of waking up and no longer feeling the pain in my chest, scared of sleepless night where I wouldn’t curse you, scared of redefining me, scared of looking to the end of the world but finding none of you — scared of being nobody to you — Just don’t, stop singing me your lullaby.

I really would hate you.

Because this is how I love you,

I hate how I love you,

In a way that you’ll never know.