I hated you.
Like, really hated you. Had strong feelings of detesting you and everything you were about.
We lived together. We worked together. Your hair bothered me. Your voice bothered me. Your approach to the job bothered me. The food you ate bothered me. We drunkenly had sex on the couch. I hated myself for it and hated you for it. I lied to everyone and told them it didn’t happen. I wish that was the truth. But when I really think about it, I don’t feel that remorseful. It’s kind of good because it gives me more justification for hating you even more.
Letters for Loves 