I hate that I still love you.
I wish I didn't.
But I do.
I hate that I cannot bring myself
to hate you.
You are still so much of a part
of me.
And here you rest, forever,
inside of my deepest parts.
I hate how much I miss you,
I wish you were near.
In my bed, next to me,
sleeping. Calm.
But you are not. You chose someone else.
Not me.
But here you are.
Deep inside the heart of me.
Forever beating an off rhythm
drum pound of heartache
and loss.
I hate myself for loving you still
despite what you did.
I wish I didn't.
I wish I could move on
and leave you behind.
But I cannot.
You are still here. Inside of me,
driving continued bad choices
and poor decisions.
So much a part of me that I don't know
where I end and you begin.
I hate that it is over between us
when it shouldn't be.
When it doesn't need to be,
but is.
I wish I was there, next to you,
holding you.
But I am not.
And I cannot, because it is done.
Final finality of termination of contract.
Brutal efficiency in the death of us.
The death of trust.
I hate that I cannot love again.
That part of my heart
has been soldered shut
by the awful ending of us.
Severed nerve endings spark pain
and torment.
A never ending cycle of what if
and maybe.
I hate that I continue to hate.
It was my anger and disappointment in failure
that drove you into his heart
and drove me out of yours.
I can see that now.
I want to move on from that
bitter
angry
and toxic person
that drove you away.
I want to be free of hate
open to love
open to living
open to new heartache.
But still,
here you are,
not here,
but here.
And I hate that.
