I hate you, I really do. Especially when you’re close to me, casually drape your arms around me in a simple yet friendly jester. It makes me sick knowing you don’t know how to properly respond to me. That when you question me about my other conquests I hate you even more.

Don’t you see? Don’t you get it? No. You don’t. You don’t see how I look at you with pain and want in my emerald green eyes. You don’t understand that you’re careless words of accusations dig deep into my heart like a butcher’s knife. You don’t know that when your looking at the other women around me. That it kills me just a little more each time.

You don’t know that I love you with every inch of my heart. As rotten and spoiled as it may be, I still love you still. Don’t you understand that there is no other in my world? You consume every part of me like the disease that I am known to be. Sucking and taking all that you want and never giving anything in return.

A sick process few would consider, but I would take in a heart beat. You killed me once and shattered my heart in the process. And now as I sit here watching you with them it sickens me to the core. Knowing you’ll never be with me and take fancy in the others around you. But it’s like they say I suppose, for all the words of tongue and pen the saddest are ‘it might have been.’ And I question myself about this every day.

What would have happened if I never crawled helplessly into the back of that old rickety trailer? Would we ever find ourselves in this position now? A love that seems one sided even though those side long glances and simple touches mean more than what everyone suspects.

Another year and we’ll see. Another year and I’ll be old enough. Another year and you and I won’t have to ask ourselves ‘it might have been.’