somehow still

i hate you, but sometimes i wonder

i hate you

and i hate all of the things

you put me through

but i still like arroz caldo

the specific kind you made for me

when i was sick

and you didn't believe in hospitals

but you believed in my aunt's recipe

or that your best attempt at cooking

could somehow make me feel better

it did

and when i'm sick

i secretly wish i could tell you

sometimes i actually do

and ask for your arroz caldo

that you somehow already forgot how to do

sometimes i think i hate you

that there may be no love left

from me to you

but i think of that

specific arroz caldo

and all the food i hold

ever so dearly close to my heart

because they remind me of you

and i wonder

do i really hate you?