I effing hate him. I hate him more than I ever hated anyone or anything ever before. I hate him for making me believe I've actually found love. I hate him for sending me super sweet text messages and I hate him for holding me like he's afraid I might break in his hands. I hate him for smiling at me like I'm the only one in the world. I hate him for being so far away, I hate him for not letting me move on. I hate him for not asking me to be his girlfriend, I hate him for acting like he owns me, I hate him for being possessive and jealous and for shutting me out every time he's going through a hard time. I hate him for making me question my sanity, I hate him for lying to me when he knows I don't believe him. I hate him for making me feel like a fragile porcelain doll in the hands of a very destructive child. I hate him. And most of all I hate myself. I hate him for making me love him.