How I Learned to Hate You
On the night we saw our favorite band, it was when you kissed me.
It was that song.
That stupid song.
When we drove to your house and got lost, it was the way you made me laughed.
Those stupid jokes.
When you called me after that crazy party, it was when you told me how you felt.
Those stupid three words.
That night we had a fight, it was the way you held me.
We drank too much.
We were stupid and drunk.
When you didn’t talk to me for weeks, it was when you wanted me back.
Next to the fountain
That stupid fountain.
The moment I knew you weren’t right for me, it was how you sucked me back in.
It was the way you smiled.
Your stupid smile.
When I realized you had another, it was the way you told me you still loved me.
And I believed it.
I stupidly believed it.
That week where I lost sleep and something I didn’t know I could love, it was how you told her everything about us.
She told everyone these lies.
Those stupid lies.
But after everything that’s happened, it’s how you managed to still make me care.
And I don’t even hate you.
I’m stupid — I should hate you.