You.

I hate you.
I hate the way your hair falls.
I hate the way you smile.
I hate how when you talk to me,
I'm happy for a while.
I hate how when you compliment me
You seem to mean what you say,
And my god this frustrates me
In far too many ways.
If frustrates me because you do mean it.
It frustrates me because you're there when I fall.
It frustrates me becuase we'd be great together.
If frustrates me because I don't hate you at all.


If all else perished and you remained, I should still continue to be. If all else remained and you were anihilated, the universe would turn to an almighty stranger. And so you shall never know how I love you, and that not because you're handsome but because you're more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same. You are always, always in my mind. Not as a pleasure any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. And yet we are not destined to be together. We'll be friends, I'm well aware, for a very long time to come, but I'm afraid my friend, that that is all we may ever be.