The Luck I Lack

A series of thoughts upon realization (of your false love).

I wish I didn't have to remember how much I love you. Loved you. Love you. 

It's a fairly sad realization, the hint of difference between you and I. I adore everything about you and you adore few things in regards to me. I loathe you for the empty glaring in your eyes, the same glare men under my hands have met. The glare I give without meaning to, the indifference to our relationship. You hurt everything I am when you don't speak to me, or rather when you speak without meaning. You appreciate me from a distance, a distance in which you hate others to fill but would never stop. The distance you let grow every time you see the admiration hiding in my smile, the care I want you to address. The care you need for me to possess but don't want to obtain. It's a disgusting tension that comes to haunt my heart night after night. I just wish you loved me, loved me like I love you. After these heart aching years, I would really rather you spit in my face and tell me you want nothing more than for us to never meet again, because that would hurt less than this toying I find myself subject to. I am smart enough to recognize you don't care for me as you say you do, but what do I say to a heart that is deaf to any reality that wanders from our pairing. It's you until I close my eyes for the very last time. It's pitiful. I hate myself for the place you've stolen in my heart and mind. I hate myself for writing this, needing to release this somewhere other than the alcohol or marijuana I attempt to bury thoughts of you with. I hate myself for allowing you to fog up my own self liking, because there isn't anything wrong with me. Not for loving you anyway. In fact there is something deeply sideways surrounding all that you are, for bathing in my sadness and drying yourself off with my hope. It saddens me more than I can ever express- the fact that the realest, rawest emotion I've ever felt for someone in the entirety of my days belongs to you, and it hurts that I have so much to offer but only for you. I hate that I love you, I hate all that you are, and all that I am. I hate us, and I hate that as much as I wish I'd never met you, that if given the option to take it back, I wouldn't. Because that would mean forgetting the color of your eyes and never seeing the way you smile after attempting to conceal it. It would mean forgetting the way you laugh and the innocence that is rarely painted, over the monster like canvas you are as a whole. It would mean forgetting you. Something I would never wish to truly do. Without the memory of you, my heart would be one of false emotions and a lack of magic. You gave me magic and now I am stuck with an unrealistic standard the poor men I cause to crumble would never dream of reaching. I hate you because now I am you.