I hate that I never came up with a nick name for you.
I hate that somehow I was enough but might have been too much for you.
I hate that we made 11:11 wishes, but our wishes had already come true .
I hate that we'll never get those wishes back.
I hate that I'm crying writing this and the flow might be wack.
I hate that I'm writing this listening to our track
I hate looking at couples and saying "we'll never get that back".
I hate that I hate and contemplate and resonate and second date and never late, and always good, but sometimes hood, and too scared to cheat but too strong to weep and I miss you everyday, and have a poetry site with no words left to say.
Because what are words if I can't use them with you, and what is sickness if the cure was you, and what is colour when you only see blues.
Now I hate hate hate with not much left to love, and I long for our sneaky shy forehead kisses and drawn out hugs
Now I hate Tuesdays and 11:11 wishes, and hear nothing but what's in my earplugs. because whenever I see you or know that I wont, I think to myself this is something Trent would've wrote.