I hate when I think back on how we started.

I hate how I felt like a stand-in for the other girls who rejected you.

I hate how that very wounded-ness made me want to love you.

I hate how I thought about walking away early on but deluded myself into staying.

I hate knowing that if I walked out of your life, the strength of your sentiment towards is so pale compared to the pain you’ve felt from previous losses.

I hate how you’ll replace me with someone else.

I hate how you didn’t fight for me.

I hate how I justify the lack of intimacy you showed me.

I hate how I felt so convenient for you.

I hate how I doubt whether you ever truly loved me, and maybe your male mind mistook sexual intimacy for love.

I hate how I finally showed who I really am, through my convictions of faith, and was rejected by you.

I hate that I blinded myself to the great likelihood of that rejection all along.

I hate that I compromised my values to be with you.

I hate how little I valued myself.

I hate how memories of being with you still make me squirm.

I hate how I crave you.

I hate how much I’m still in love with you when I know you’re wrong for me.

I hate that you might never know or care about how much it hurt/s to lose you.

I hate how heavy the weight of your empty space beside me feels.

I hate that there’s nothing left to do or prove or feel except to move on.

I hate you so that I can start telling myself to stop  loving you.