Sloppy. Almost illegible. But you left me notes on napkins, receipts, the margins of books. I hate that I still have them in a drawer like they’re sacred texts.
Not with anger—with patience. Like you’d already forgiven me before I even said sorry. I hate that I learned how to be better because of you, and now I have to be better without you. 10 reasons why i hate you
That cracked bench near the bus stop. The 24-hour diner with bad coffee. Now I can’t walk past them without my chest tightening. You ruined geography. Sloppy
They say hate is a strong word. I agree. It’s also the wrong word—but it’s the only one loud enough to drown out the sound of missing you. So here it is. Ten reasons why I hate you. Not because I actually do, but because loving you broke the dictionary. I hate that I still have them in
You remember the name of my childhood hamster, the song I hum when I’m nervous, and the exact date we had our first fight. You remember me better than I remember myself. I hate that no one else will ever know that version of me.