I hate the way you talk to me and the way you try not to care.

 I hate the way you make me hope. I hate it when you

stare; I hate your big doe eyes and the way

you read my mind. I hate it when your voice lingers the

 haunting echoes of what could have been and what we left behind.

 I hate when your words slip a tangled web of twisted truth.

 I hate the way your laughter rings. I hate it when you make me

laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when

you’re not around. And the fact that you didn’t call. But

mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close,

not even a little bit, not even at all.