Love was fickle,
but the hate remained
the memories of laughter
did eventually fade

but sharp and cold
left in a corner, unattended,
the loathing could only grow.

And grow it did,
steady and fast
grow, until the love, it was eventually past

and when one lost to the other
and the hate prevailed,
love was not even a memory,
behind the resent that it was veiled