I’d rather write how pissed off I am than to say it in front of your face. There’s something in you that make me not say the things I should. I don’t want you to get hurt. But I can’t express myself to you. So I’d rather keep these things to myself. I hate you, but I love you so much.
I hate having serious talks with you, ’cause I know you won’t understand me or you’ll make the conversation favorable to you. That makes me pissed off. But I still love you. But it’s always hurting me.
I don’t equate hate with anger. I’m not angry with you. It’s just that it’s awful how we turned out to be. We’re like oil and water, like in that Incubus song, we’re trying so hard to mix together. But we can’t.
Right now, it tears my heart to write this. I know you won’t read this. That also pisses me off.