I hate you.
For making me believe in your words. Even though I know you've been lying from the start. For making me romanticise the concept of secret relationship. Are we even in a relationship? I hate you. Because you know me. You know every part of me. That you know where to put your hand and the right pressure for me to say yes. That you know my weakness. How you know where to press your lips that makes me close my eyes. And that specific spot on my neck that makes my knees tremble. The pace that I prefer. The touch that I crave. I hate you for leaving marks on me everytime. But I hate myself too for loving it. Because those marks are the only indication that you owned me. At least for the night. I fucking hate you. I hate that my bed is the only place we're allowed to be in. And I know that you will leave again in the morning. Without any words. And leave me cold in the mattress. Left only with marks that I'll have to again hide for a couple of days. And cry again for how many hours. I hate it that I'm broken without you knowing. For crying over you. For missing you. I hate it.
But I know for a fact that it's also your touch that can make me forget it.
So, come over tonight. Let's do it again.
If this is what breaks and builds us at the same time. Let's do it again and again.
