Hate(Love) You(?)

I hate you. You know that? Just so you do, I'll explain it. It's because you did this to me. Yes you. It's so ridiculous. You can't just make someone love you and then up and leave. Maybe I left you? You didn't even notice how I felt; neither did I.

I won't cry our shout, or tell you how much better I'd treat you. God knows, I'd be lying. I don't love you more or less than she does. But I hate you more, much more, for stepping on my heart as you left. 

That's a metaphor my dear, or I think it is, see you were blind to my existence for all of these years that you "knew me." So how could you know I was falling in love? You didn't know me, but then, I didn't know you either. Now you're back in my life and I'm happy with tears.

The problem with this silly letter to you, is that you'll never read it. If you stumble across it in passing, maybe on my death bed's table, you'll read it and be so confused. Yes, this is for you. If you ever read this you won't know it's about you.

Then why do I write it on blood/tear stained pages? Because if I don't I'll love/hate you for the rest of my life. I don't want that, god knows its not healthy.

Giving you up.
Never been yours, Mathias. 


Just a letter-rant I wrote awhile back. It's dated midnight and I didn't want to do too much editing to it, but I thought I could post it up here where I could use the right pronouns and not have to hide what it is really about.