And so, here we are. I assume that this is the point, That precipice I’ve heard about. The one where I’ll either jump, Or turn back to look for you Only to see you push me off the edge. I suppose this is that point, Where I’m left with no choice but to Hate you Because now you hate me. I’d rather we weren’t but here we seem to be.
After a perfect evening, he hates me for just being.