I hate that you are in my head a lot lately. When I say a lot, it’s… well, pretty much all the freaking time. I hate that I can’t shoo you away. And I hate that a part of me doesn’t want to.
I hate that in a small amount of time, you were able to infiltrate me. I hate that I trust you. I hate that I enjoy spending time with you. I hate that you make me smile. God, I hate it more that you’re the reason I smile most days.
I hate that you know so much about me. I hate that you try to know me because people just see what I let on. I hate that I let you dig deep and see what’s really inside. And I hate that I don’t hate letting you in.
I hate that you make me feel things.
I hate that you make me feel you.
I hate that I feel you.
You have no idea how much you consume me. How much you invade my thoughts and my subconscious. How my favorite stories to tell are about you.
I hate that you scare me, and yet I know I could be fearless as long as I’m with you.
But mostly, I hate that you don’t think you are worth it. Because you are. You are special. I just don’t think you want to be.