The You Is Silent

I hate that I make her feel the way that you make me feel.

I hate that when I don’t answer her calls, I know exactly how she’s feeling because that’s how I feel when you don’t answer mine.

I hate that she wants me as much as I want you.

I hate that I am compelled to think up increasingly clever ways of commandeering your attention the way that she pulls increasingly miserable stunts to gain mine.

I hate that I spend hours restlessly waiting for your reply the way that she spends hours anxiously waiting for mine.

I hate that I let her down over and over the way you let me down over and over.

I hate that she throws herself at me the way I want to throw myself at you.

I hate that I am hurting her the way that you are hurting me.

I hate how she feels empty when I’m not around the way I feel cavernous when you are not.

But I love that it feels like I can get revenge on the universe in some twisted way by squeezing the life out of her the way you squeeze the life out of me.