Writers 
I hate the way you steal my peace,
Yet miss you when you're far away.
I hate the silence when you leave,
Yet wish you'd never go away.
I hate the words you never mean,
The careless things you sometimes do,
Yet somehow, in the quietest moments,
My heart still finds its way to you.
You are the storm I should avoid,
The fire I know will leave a scar.
Yet every time I run from you,
I find myself wondering where you are.
I hate the way you know my heart,
The way your eyes can make me weak.
I hate that I can read your silence,
And hear the words you never speak.
I hate the way you pull me close to your breath,
And push me back,
Then leave me questioning what we are.
I hate how every little memory
Still follows me from near and far.
Perhaps you're not the love I need,
Perhaps we're wrong in every way.
But if love and hate are enemies,
Why do I feel them both?
So I'll pretend that I don't care,
I'll tell myself that I am through.
But deep inside, beneath it all,
I still don't know what I should do.
I don't know if I truly hate you,
Or if I simply hate the truth:
That beneath all this anger,
I still love you more than I should.
