In class on Friday, we were told to free-write about rain for the first five minutes of class. I looked at you, one row over, four seats ahead, and I immediately knew what to write. I wrote about you. About how you pinky promised me we’d kiss in the pouring rain, in an empty street, at night under a street lamp. I wrote about how similar to the rain you are. You’re there one minute, and gone the next. You’ve been that way since I met you. You and the rain both made my face wet. The rain and it’s raindrops. You and your broken promises. You promised me so many things. Empty promises. We made so many plans. I always knew in the back of my mind that we wouldn’t last. I knew we wouldn’t. Did I hope, pray, and fight for you? Hell. Yes. But no matter how much I fought, we didn’t make it.
We had gone through so much together. Too damn much. I gave you too many chances, while you only gave me one. You broke my heart too many times, yet I always forgave you. I loved you. I hate you now. I hate that I love you. I hate what you do to me. I hate what you’ve turned me into. I hate that because of you, I can’t say “I love you” to any of my friends anymore, because I’m afraid that if I say it, they’ll leave me. Just like you did. I hate it. But I love you.
You said you were no good for me. You’re right. But I can’t remember anyone else but you. I can’t stand when people touch me, because it takes away how your touch felt. How it made my skin tingle in the most wonderful way. I hate everything about you. Especially that you’ve moved on so easily. Like I was never important to you. Like you were never in love like you claimed. Like we never had anything special. I love you too much.