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Clare Martin Clare Martin
Recommendations: 12

I Hate That I Love You


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She had a friend.

If you haven't gone through these kinds of emotions already, you most definitely will before you're much older.


I never wanted to leave you.


I would've stayed on that little bench with you all night, watching the rain fall into the river like tears into a cup, holding your hand out of not love, but friendship, feeling your arm bring warmth across my shoulders, a jacket pulled over my head to shield me from the rain. I honestly didn't care that it was raining. The fact that the stars were out and I was still away from the hell society calls home was enough for me.


With every passing day, every passing tear and raindrop, I grew ever closer to you. I couldn't imagine leaving the school gates without you by my side. You became the reason I woke up. I felt as though I finally had a purpose. I had you; somebody cared about me! And with every passing moment, I kept staring at those lips, those soft, baby-pink lips, stained red with that scarlet cherry drink I could never make any sense of but loved the taste of. I kept staring at your hands, strong, scarred fingers, aged with not time, but pressure. Hands I love. Hands I trust. Hands like mine.


I always, always, always stared at your eyes. They would've been nothing special had I not loved you so desperately. Suddenly that misted, lifeless blue became an ocean, and beneath that ocean lay a thousand secrets, from heartbreak to agonies I didn't even know existed to words I never imagined you speaking. Tied together, those cherry-stained lips, those terrorized hands, those age-old eyes, was how and why I fell in love with you.


Now, can you imagine the pain I felt when suddenly, out of nowhere, you just shut me off? When, in the dawning of a new week, you decided that my work had sufficed and that you no longer needed me? Can you imagine the tears I've so needlessly shed over you? Getting home from school, which soon became a hell without you, back to the hell I already live in, and crying myself clean of tears and torment every night, only to face it again the next morning? How you thought nothing of my cracked, bleeding lips, my shaking, chemical-damaged hands and my forest green eyes, while I did nothing but stare at yours!


And suddenly, all that tied together, I hated you. I hated your lips, which became as cracked and bloody as mine as the cold fell in, I hated your hands, where the scars became an unbearable blemish, and I hated your eyes, which faded back to their usual empty sea, misted and entirely uninteresting. I hated them. I hated you. I still hate you, with every essence of my being! And I doubt I'll ever hate anyone quite as much.


Yet...at the same time, you were my first. You probably won't be my last...but you might be. I love you. I love everything about you. My throat is sucked dry when I hear your voice, my heart stops when you send me a message and my stomach jumps when you say hello. I wish I could say I hated you...but I don't hate you. I love you, I love you so much, and who knows? Maybe I always will.


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