I hate that I love her anger, that I need it to fuel me. But when it comes to her, I just need some form of emotion in whatever capacity I can get it to survive. The part of myself I want to deny is the part that aches for her again. While slow and nearly unmoving, that steady heartbeat lies dormant in my chest, needing the opportunity to rage all its own. I continuously hate myself for loving any version of her I’ve been given.
