Why I Hate You

I hate you because. . .

You didn’t buy me flowers. I used to hope each Valentine’s day that you’ll surprise me with a bouquet of pink roses, you never did. But, you gave me that carved soap flower. You gave me the kind that never dies.

You didn’t buy me huggable stuff toys. Instead, you gave me you. Cuddling with you has always been my favorite. If I close my eyes now, I would still remember lying across your chest, listening to the beat of your heart while you stroke my hair with your gentle hands.

You didn’t bring me to a fancy restaurant. We didn’t need to, you’ve got the cooking skills of a pro. Just staying at your place wearing jeans and shirt with movies and good food is way better than dressing up and dining out.

You didn’t buy me chocolates. You didn’t have to. You made poemsΒ sweeter than chocolates. Sweets that turned bitter, words that sticks even when I try to spit them out of my mouth.

You didn’t have a car to drive me around. Being with you was a hell of a roller coaster ride.

You didn’t bring me to a Taylor Swift concert. You composed songs and sang them to me.

You never read me a book. You wrote our story and made a short film out of it dedicated only to me.

You didn’t say I’m beautiful. You made me feel beautiful.

You always fail to text me. But you never fail to tell me that you love me. Always have and always will.

You play a lot of musical instruments. And then you had my heart and played it to the beat.

You never leave me little surprise notes. You left a huge hole in my heart that, time, however long it might be, can never fully heal.

…and that is Why I hateΒ You.

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