I hate you.
I hate you for talking to me.
I hate you for playing games with me.
I hate you for the empty compliments.
I hate you for describing the life I so badly want.
I hate you for saying you wanted that life with me.
I hate you for saying you could not give it to me.
I hate you for writing all the things I want a man to feel for me.
I hate you for reminding me I don’t have any of that.
I hate you for pulling me out the cave I’d built to protect me from wanting what I can’t have.
I hate you for being a liar.
I hate you for being there.
I hate you for taking the time to talk.
I hate you for making me end what was obviously unhealthy.
I hate that I feel more pain now even though what I did was meant to make me better.
I hate that it made me see so clearly how alone I am.
I hate that I was nothing for you, that without me your life will go on, unfazed.
I hate that you probably do not care what effect all this has had on me.
I hate that I never want to leave my bed out of fear I may connect with someone who again will leave me.
I hate the energy spent on this.
I hate how exhausted I am from it.
I hate you.
I hate that I hate me at this moment.