Truth is, I don't hate you. I only pretend to hate you because it's an easier emotion than pain. It's easier to be angry at you than to accept how bad I'm hurting. It's easier than having to tell you that the reason I can't speak to you anymore is because it hurts too much. It's true. It hurts. So much. I see you with her and it hurts me that you were able to replace me so quickly when I'm not even able to move on. If I hate you for anything it's that you convinced me to believe that I was actually important to you when, in reality, I didn't mean a thing. You meant the world to me. You gained my trustand threw it right back in my face. I don't hate you. I hate that because of you, I'm broken. I can't function properly. I hate that I still remember every word you said to me. Most of all, I hate being nothing to you.
