I almost can’t stand to look at your face the first thing in the morning. I should feel excitement, or warmth, but instead I sit here and loath the fact that we share the same bed.
It’s my fault, really. I put myself through this each and every day when I could turn around and walk away. I’m sure then when I wake up in the morning, I’ll at the very least feel nothing.
Yet I still stand here, completely despising every little thing about you. I can’t stand the way you talk, or the way you ignore each word that comes out of my mouth. I can’t stand the way you carry yourself. I can’t stand your inability to act like a decent person who is supposed to show affection to the person they love… not torture them.
I can’t stand how whenever I’m trying to hold an adult conversation pertaining to our future and if our paths are aimed toward the same road, you instantly jump down my throat and claim I’m starting an argument. Aren’t two people supposed to be able to discuss their wants and needs from a relationship if they supposedly “love” each other so much?
I can read it in your eyes that your love for me is gone. I can hear it in your voice that your desire for me has vanished. You’ve asked me to change so many times, I’ve become someone I’m sure you can’t recognize.
I hate who you made me.
Despite all this hostility I feel toward your mere existence, I’m here trying so hard to make you stay while you carelessly watch us falter.
At least I’m trying to find the love I had for you. You’ve thrown in the towel, but haven’t gotten out of the ring. Stop fighting my heart and choose before you kill what’s left of me.