Hey, I’m still in love with you and unless you love me back, we can’t do this because it hurts so damn much to be near you and not have you. But then she says, “Is it…do you…do you still hate me?” My heart rips down the middle. Do I hate her? I hate that when your mouth curves into a smile, I can’t kiss it. I hate that you hold my heart in a vise grip and you have no idea. I hate that I’ve never been able to move on from you—not for a single day. I hate that if I were to tell you all of this, you’d leave, and I’d be left vulnerable and bleeding out at the bar.
