I hate you.

You told me once hate has no substance, there is nothing to gain from it, not enough meaning in it for a good enough reason. You told me hate makes no sense as an emotion, that no matter how I try to explain it will never justify anything as long as I say hate. I told you I hated everyone, you said no, you don't you just think you do because you're a cynic and I won't bother reasoning with you.

I hate you.

You were probably right, that I didn't really hate everyone, because now I know I don't—I hate you, and only you, because you've captured everything I value and imprisoned it within the cage of your heart, twisted every breath of shadow into light so I have no more place to hide, carved the memory of you into my flesh until it sank to my bones and echoed in my being until my soul knew nothing else. No one expects me to not hate you because you've shackled my wrists, chained to your throat, locked your fingers around my every breath and molded the air into the shape of your mouth, you insufferable, selfish boy, how could you sink your claws into my chest and steal what I intended for another, selfish, selfish, you are selfish.

I hate you.

I hate you for confining moonlight in the hollows of your bones, for melting the stars into your bloodstream, shredding the blanket of the night sky and dipping them into your irises, digging your hands into my skin, gorging your name into my palms, letting yourself sink into my being, how could you let yourself be a part of me? How could you claim the right to tear me apart, to open me like a rusty zipper, to peek inside just to see what I hide, you greedy man, greedy, greedy, you are greedy.

I hate you.

I hate you for the warmth of your hands around mine, the soft, lilting caress of your voice overlapping mine, your smile, full of understanding when nobody else has the same gift for me, your calm a marble wall, unyielding before the crashing waves of my frustration, you selfish, greedy man, I hate you, I hate you, listen to me and rage with me, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

I hate you.

I dedicate every waking moment to picking out your flaws, inspecting them, prodding them, forcing them to grow into something that resembles repulsive, knowing all at once that it's all futile. Convincing myself you are worthless, you are nothing, you are all that I hate, and I wonder if there is even the tiniest chance that in the future I could look at you and know there is nothing I want more than to leave your vicinity rather than ache for the distance to be closed like a trapdoor on the secrets I keep beneath the bowels of my heart. I wonder, I  wonder if one day I could breathe easily with or without you, rather than feel your touch and die for just a second then revived by the butterflies in my stomach.

Even butterflies can have knives for wings, you oblivious creature, I hate you.

I hate you for not knowing, I hate myself for not saying anything, and maybe I can thrive on hate, and ignore the other side of this darkness, pay no heed to the gentle cackle of fire laid deep in the hearth where I keep burning myself, as if one day I would stiffen into a dark crisp and disintegrate with a single touch, maybe I can keep hating and maybe this loathing will solidify into an impregnable shield, but knowing that it will keep getting harder and harder, more and more brittle, until I crack over the edges and shatter like shards over you.

How right you were, you selfish, greedy, oblivious man I hate you, I hate you, I love you.

I wonder if there really is a difference.