I don't hate you.

I just hate what you did.

I hate what you didn't do.

I hate why we aren't together.

I hate that your mom knows everything about me.

I hate that I don't hate you at all.

I hate that you always accuse me of staring at you

I hate that you chose her.

I hate that I still care.

Only we'll ever know our story,
The full story,
Just you and I.

And only you and them,
Will ever know your full stories,
You and all God-knows-how-many-of- them.

But now it seems all our stories share pages,
Intertwining and overlapping,
And that's the most harrowing part for me,
Because I wanted one story,
Just you and me.

I dread to turn the pages,
To find out how this ends.
I fear a happy ending does not await us,
But what I fear more is that you're not finished
Writing stories,
Without me.