I Hate Myself For Loving You

It’s late at night. Another sleepless night filled with thoughts and weary eyes. As months pass by, the communication grows more nonexistent. You would think over time I would be over this.

They say it takes 21 days to break a habit, but I can’t seem to quit you.

I cannot fathom love and the feelings it gives me. I am beyond ecstatic on one end, yet crumbling to pieces on the other. My day lights up with you, but is darker than a city wide blackout when I’m without you.

Yet, even without you, I cannot help but love your absence. Being alone can be so wonderful at times because I get too suffocated. Too sucked into the idea of you. Drown in the quicksand that is our differences. Sometimes, I believe we need a step back to regain our balance.

Maybe we didn’t step back enough.

How can I still love someone who left me at my worst? Someone who couldn’t overlook my past, yet had more skeletons in their closet than I ever will? A person who made time for things when they “felt like it”?

Because beyond those obstacles, our time was precious. Every minute we spent was sparklingly perfect. Not a flaw, not a grey area, no confusion. We were comfortable. I’ll always treasure the laughs, the plans we spoke of, and the touches.

Never will I understand how if things are good, they can’t just stay good.

I hate that you didn’t stay. I hate how we don’t speak to each other, not even casually catch up. I hate how you just “weren’t ready” for a relationship. Mostly, I hate not catching myself before falling into your spell.