I don’t know what I want.

How immature.

It’s just that she gets mentioned

and I can’t help but compare which holidays or birthdays were more enjoyable.

How immature.

I get so bitter about it that I wish the whole nation would go to hell.

How immature.

I just want to get rid of all this negativity and the idea of her.

Wishful thinking is meaningless.

In the end, all I know is that I love you.

Once again

I hate you.

I wish you didn’t exist.

But then I wouldn’t be here.

Actually, that thought seems pretty pleasant.

I’ll forever hate you and then maybe one day, I’ll disappear.