#ex relationship

i want to hate you.

i really do.

i want your name

to become a bruise

i stop pressing on.

i want every memory

to lose its color,

every song to forget your voice,

every place we touched

to become ordinary again.

but my heart still aches

at the smallest reminders—

a familiar word,

a certain hour of the night,

the quiet after everyone leaves,

the kind of darkness

where memories become louder

than anything actually happening.

and there you are again.

not beside me,

but everywhere.

i hate what you did to me.

i hate the lies

you tucked so gently

between your promises

that i never noticed

i was building my trust

on something already rotting.

i hate how you let me love you

with my hands uncovered,

how i gave you every fragile thing

i had been afraid to give anyone,

and you held them

until they were warm,

then let them fall.

i was still sitting

at the end of our chapter,

fingertips tracing the words

as if touching them enough

could keep the story alive.

i was searching every sentence

for a warning.

a crack.

a place where i should have known

the ending was coming.

while you had already

turned the page.

already found another story.

already learned

how to keep reading

without me.

and i was still waiting

for you to come back

to the paragraph

where you left me.

i want to hate you.

i want to look at you

and feel nothing

but the cold certainty

of a door closing.

i want your face

to mean nothing to me.

but i can’t.

not because i still love you.

i don’t.

but because before the wreckage,

before the silence,

before i learned

what your leaving could do to me,

you loved me too.

and that is the splinter

i cannot pull out.

because how do i hate

someone who once made me feel safe

without also hating

the part of me

that believed them?

your actions don’t define me.

they don’t get to chain me

to the ruins.

they don’t get to make me

live forever in the moment

everything broke,

digging through the ashes

for the exact second

you stopped being

the person i knew.

they tell me enough.

enough to understand

that the bunny i loved

was perhaps a hare all along—

soft enough to let me

hold it close,

wild enough

to disappear the moment

the forest called.

and maybe i was so blinded

by the warmth of having you

that i never noticed

how often your ears

were already listening

for somewhere else to run.

i hate that.

i hate that i still think of you

when the world goes dark.

because darkness has a way

of reopening old doors.

and sometimes i imagine

you sitting across from me again,

and i know

i would still speak.

not because i want you back.

not because i want another chance.

i want an answer

that could finally put

the ghosts to sleep.

why did you let me keep loving you

when you already knew

you were leaving?

why did you let me

build a home

inside a house

you had already decided

to abandon?

why did you let me

keep watering something

you had already

stopped trying to grow?

you left me

holding the shards

of a relationship

you were the one

who asked me to build.

and somehow

i was the one

bleeding from them.

sometimes,

i admit,

i want you to hurt.

not because i want your life ruined.

not because i want revenge.

just because some part of me

wants the universe

to make you understand.

i want you to wake up one day

with the same hollow feeling

i had when i realized

the person i was admiring

had already turned

their gaze elsewhere.

i want you to know

what it is like

to stare at a message

and feel your stomach sink.

to watch someone you trusted

become distant

while you keep searching

for the version of them

that used to reach for you.

i want you to know

what it feels like

to realize the person

you thought was holding your hand

was already letting go.

and i hate that

some faint part of me

still wishes for it.

i hope you cry.

i hope regret

finds you quietly.

i hope one night

the silence becomes unbearable

and my absence

finally has a shape.

i hope you remember

the person who would have stayed.

the person who kept choosing you

even when choosing you hurt.

i hope you understand

the weight of leaving someone

with promises still ringing

inside their chest.

in the silence,

that small, bitter part of me

whispers—

i hope you feel

the betrayal i felt

when you said you would stay

and left anyway.

i hope you understand

what it means

to be abandoned

while still believing

you were loved.

i hope, for once,

you are the one

standing in the ruins,

trying to understand

how something you thought was home

became a place

you can never return to.

and then—

i hate myself

for wishing that.

because even now,

somewhere underneath

all this grief,

there is still empathy.

still a part of me

that wonders if you’re okay.

still a part of me

that remembers your softness

before i had to learn

how sharp you could become.

and i hate that part of me.

not because it is weak,

but because it refuses

to become you.

i could let this hurt

turn me cruel.

i could make a home

out of resentment

and sleep there every night.

i could spend years

standing at the door

of what we were,

waiting for you to return

just so i could finally

slam it shut.

but i don’t want that.

i don’t want you

to own that much of me.

so maybe

i will leave the book here.

not because the ending

doesn’t hurt,

but because i am tired

of bleeding onto the pages

trying to rewrite it.

you were a chapter.

a painful one.

a beautiful one.

a real one.

but still—

a chapter.

and i will not spend

the rest of my life

mistaking the page

you abandoned me on

for the place

where my story ends.

i want to hate you.

i really do.

but when i search my heart

for hatred,

all i find

is the love that survived

long enough

to become grief.

and maybe

that is the cruelest part.

you got to leave

the story behind.

i had to learn

how to live

She asked "I fear that X is true"

Only ever let us do the crap that they liked and never engaged with any of our interests

Would leave us on read for WEEKS and only responded when we threatened to break up

Never remembered/listened to a single thing we said about ourself

Make sexual comments abt us infront of our family/friends

Was obsessed with our thighs and constantly groped at them

Would make us play into their kinks without telling us abt it

And would make us look at actual gore when hanging out and would throw a fit if we didnt do it or react very enthusiastically