I won’t text you because I hate you. I truly, deeply, sincerely and passionately hate your guts. I do, I promise. I refuse to text you because you don’t mind hurting me, because your rules are so very much important than my feelings (and everyone else’s feelings for that matter) and that just makes all of your “I love you” bullshit, well, uhm… bullshit. You’re selfish and you take what you need, you take the parts of me that matter to you and you give nothing in return. You’ve left me here, in the middle of nowhere. You came and you messed me up and you left, in a blink of an eye. You have rules and that’s all you care about, you don’t look around and you don’t listen. You’re willingly trapped in your comfortable bubble of selfishness and you won’t even open your eyes to look out the window. See, you made a choice. You decided to leave me and I get it. But truth be told, I don’t get it. Anyway, I did promise myself I wouldn’t text you again with my constant whining about how much I love you and how unfair this is to me.
So, I won’t, I won’t text you, baby. I’ll just keep writing a billion paragraphs on how much I hate you, on how I won’t miss you, on how I think you’re making a huge-ass mistake. And when I’m not writing about it, I’ll think about you, I’ll re-read old conversations and replay scenes on my head. Remember that one time when you sang to me so I would stop crying? I do, all the time. And I know this is probably the most pathetic thing I’ve said in a very long time but, just so you know, I’m not this much of psychopath with everyone, that’s just a very special thing I became with you and for you and I’m sorry about it. I bet you’re done reading stuff like this and I get it, but then I remember that you kept on telling me how much you loved me, and I’ll always trust you, even if I tend to forget that you’re probably the most honest person I know.
I had this idea in my head that you wouldn’t open up to anyone, and that for the first time in my life, I really needed to fight for someone instead of waiting for people to fight for me. That you were this closed treasure of awesomeness and that I had to look for the key, I had to win the right to “open” you. I don’t know at what point I became so sure of myself to think that I would be able to do it, I know better now. I get it, I understand your reasons and I understand the way you think (kind of.) And as much as I trust you, as much as I like to hear your advices and try to stick to them, I think you’re making a mistake. I think you don’t understand how special this is, how unique and beautiful we are as “us”, I don’t care really if I have to cry my eyes out later on when we say goodbye. This is special. We are special, we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, we fit together perfectly. I have to admit I think I fell for you, and I know how many rules I’m breaking, and I’m sorry, I get it. But I couldn’t help falling for your eyes and the way you looked at me when we weren’t supposed to be looking at each other. I think I love you as much as I love your family and as much as I know my family would love you.
I have to move on, right? I know, I know, I get it. But let me tell you I don’t think I’ll be able to. I didn’t have closure, all I got were these incomplete memories of what could’ve been, of the potential we had and how perfect it would’ve been. I’d never had something like you and you’re not even “perfect”, I just adore your imperfections, they make me happy even when they make me mad. You’re clumsy and stupid and an asshole but I love you, even though I hate you. You relax me; your presence is like going for a walk to get some fresh air. You’re different from everything I know and yet you’ve become so familiar to me I don’t even know how to have inside jokes with anyone else. I love you and I love loving you and to be honest, I’m not ashamed of it, not even close. I think you’re making a mistake, but what if I’m wrong? What if I’m not as special to you as you’re to me? What if, indeed, you love me, but you just don’t love me enough? What happens, then? What happens is that I have to move on.
So, no, I won’t text you because I hate you. But, actually, I won’t text you because I love you so much and I want to love you so perfectly but you won’t let me love you and I’ll just have to deal with it. Because you’ve made yourself pretty clear, it’s just that I tend to daydream of other realities. Goodbye, love, I’m trying to move on.