for; the period of time when i thought he didn't really miss me
love is a word reserved for couples. instead i loath you.
i hate your rough hands and soft fingertips. your sturdy chest and the way your smell brings me in.
i hate your stubbornness and the way you say my name when you're upset, because it escapes your lips in a small, whiney symphany.
i hate it when we cry, but i'm selfish so i don't avoid you. i stay, but not completely, because the thought of losing all of you is harder than the love i try and give.
most importantly i loathe the way that i love you, how i can't escape your hands around me. i miss how they taste on my tongue.
