Float or Forget

I sigh, letting the string of that stupid pink balloon weave between my fingers.

You keep texting me, and the buzzing is beginning to annoy me.

"Please," the messages say, "come back."
"I'm sorry."
"Please forgive me."

But I'm tired of forgiving you.
Gazing out into the harbor, I want to forget. But I can't. I love you too much. I hate myself for it.

I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself.

More specifically, I hate you. And I love you.
But I guess they're the same thing.