Most of the time, I hate you. The way you laugh, smile, even the way you walk, and talk. I hate how your eyes meet mine. How I had to endure that electric shock I feel every time our eyes intersect within that one uncertain point that until now I keep on encompassing. That strange feeling that creeps inside me whenever I hear your voice. Your voice, the most wonderful noise. The sweetest melody that I’d love to lull me to sleep.
Most of the time I scribble and scream your name, hidden in every page of my journal; between its every line. Then eventually I’ll run out of graphite, so I’ll just end up wondering if you do the same. Though I know that you don’t. I hate the way you heave your hands when the music play. How you tap your feet synchronizing to my very own heartbeat. I hate your footsteps. They leave unwanted and invisible traces that for once I’ve tried to follow. Hoping that they will lead me to you. I hate the way you hold your pen, as if you will never ever lose grip of it. But to be honest, I always wanted to become your pen. I hate the brown-colored bag that you have. That thick-framed eyeglasses of you.
Most of the time I wonder if you wonder of me too. If you listen to the same songs I’m listening. If you also admire the moon, the way I admire you. How it lit up the darkest and scariest nights. I hate how I used the moon to describe you. How you carry every weight of the world inside your lungs. How you were astonishingly out of placed whenever you are with your friends. I hate how I howl for your love every night. Like the moon cries for the sun. Like a lost ship searching for a lighthouse. Like a morning coffee waiting to be sipped by your lips. Like the poems I wrote but never sent to you. I hate your magnetic field. That effortless force you’re beaming that makes me fall and tremble. I hate how attracted I am to you. The way how willing and desperate my atoms to bond and collide with yours. F*ck Chemistry. I still hate you.
Most of the time I hate you. The way you stand, speak, shout, run and even the way you breathe. I hate the way you breathe. And because of that I envy oxygen. How you let it run inside your veins, flow to your heart and stay. How it makes you feel alive. Oh I wish I can also make you feel alive; the same way how you make me feel so alive. How I let you get inside my every capillary. How I let you make my heart beat. I hate the way you close your eyes. How you let the people that surround you pass by. How you let our proximity disappear the moment you closed your eyes. That moment when you choose to lose sight of me in this crowded lobby where I was left, stuck standing; staring at you. I hate how I yearn for your love to fill my empty cups. How badly I want every quarter and piece of you to occupy all of my vacancy.
Most of the time, I hate how I hate you