There's a picture frame on my bedroom wall
That has your memory in it.
Sometimes I stare at it and reminisce with a smile and sometimes I smash the glass pane until I don't recognize your face anymore.
both are liberating hobbies.
I miss you, though I'll never admit it
I hate you, though you've heard me say it.
And I think, once in between, I may have loved you.
But even I have hardly thought about that.
