You think I hate you now, but you don't know how everything I've ever written is about you. You don't know how many poems and stories you inspired. You don't know the depth of everything you made me feel. I might dislike you now, it's true, but I could never, ever, hate you. And I hate it. I hate the fact that you're my poetry. I hate that I would never, in a thousand years, be able to rip you out of my chest. We can't change destiny. But I do hate all the flowers you never brought me and the kisses I held back. And I couldn't hate you.