I hate you. I hate the fact that you are the only guy who makes me feel that certain way. I hate that you know me better than I know myself. I hate that you can tell when I’m smiling through the phone or when I’m silently crying because I can’t put what I’m feeling into words. I hate that you can make the dumbest joke but I still laugh because you’re the one who said it. I hate that my family loves you as much as I do. I hate that my little brother looks up to you as his role model. I hate that everyone sees you as this charming, perfect guy. I hate that I used to see you as that guy. I hate that I let you in. I hate that I let you twist my words into letting you get your way. I hate that you say empty words, like “I love you”; words that weigh, to me, more than the world itself.

But most of all, I hate the fact that I can’t hate you at all. Not even a little bit.

We’ve known each other since childhood – you came to my house to fish with your dad. You caught your first bass in my grandfather’s pond, something you used to remind me of all the time because you used to say, “I loved you first because I saw you first.” I hate that I fell for that crap.

Fast forward to middle school and we began to have classes together and realized that we had a lot in common. The seventh year came and we ended up dating; it was one of those fun relationships, the type that was fun to talk about, to tell others about, the type that I thought I wanted to be in. You gave me a ring that I still have to this day – an infinity knot with two hearts wrapped around it and as you were giving it to me, you said, “I’ll love you, to infinity.”

God, I hate that you knew what words to say just to make me believe you. We ended up staying together for a few months, seven to be exact, through the end of the seventh year and over the summer. We couldn’t be separated and I loved it. You knew me so well, it was like we were best friends and I wanted it to last forever. But that came to an end when your ego got threatened by another guy and you dropped me. Just like that.

That was the first time that I wish I could have hated you as much as I loved you.

We got back together ninth grade year, but it wasn’t the same so it came to an end. I turned to my academics and health, and you turned to the female population at our high school. I wrote you off at that point because you became the typical guy who turned into the douche jock. I considered myself lucky to have known you before those years.

But then you found the right girl for you and you started a serious relationship. You switched up and went back to being the old you. The you that I loved. Mine. And I wanted nothing more but to hate you, to hate this new girl, but I couldn’t.

I found myself being happy for you, for her, for the both of you because you two were so happy. Back then, I thought I was cracked in the head for wanting you to be happy and wanting whatever was right for you, even if it didn’t mean me.

But I realize now that I wasn’t cracked in the head, I just loved you too much for my own good.

High school ended and that was that. We congratulated each other for making it through the high school years and we went our separate ways. I moved to college and focused on managing classes and partying. But one night, my roommate and I stayed in and she asked me if I knew what love felt like and all of the sudden, I could feel that part of my heart that I buried. The part of my heart that contained the love that I have for you, the part that also held the hurt that you made me feel. So, I rolled my eyes when she asked again because I refused to go down memory lane that night. But that whole week, little things would start reminding me of you. There would be a song playing or a guy walking a certain way and all of the sudden, your laugh was filling my ears and I was smiling. I hate that. I hate that a simple memory of you can make me smile.

I hate that, despite all of the sh*t you’ve put me through, I still smile.

Fast forward to sophomore year of college and your name pops up on my phone. And despite my better judgment, I picked it up and the moment you said, “Hey, Leigh,” that part of my heart started pumping with fire. You tried to say that you just called to see how I was doing but it turned out that you wanted my advice on a relationship. That same relationship that you had been in since high school.

I couldn’t believe it – here you were, calling me, asking me for help with another girl. But did I go off? Did I hang up? Of course not, I stayed on the phone with you that night for hours, and many more to come, talking about how you could make it work. I was so stupid to think that you actually wanted my advice because all you wanted was to see if I still cared about you.

I hate the fact that you aren’t even in my life now, yet I still care for you.

A month later, you and your girlfriend broke up and I was shocked. I was actually upset with you because I could tell that the breakup really shook you. I wanted to be there for you so I offered for you to come up to my college and we could have a night out so you could get your mind off things. I’m sure you already had this planned out, I just beat you to the punch.

You came up, we caught up, we had fun. But as the sun began to set, you decided that you didn’t want to go out anymore, that you would rather just stay in and watch a movie. You knew that I would opt for this because I’m a homebody so we stayed in. We ended up talking about our past and things snowballed and I told you how much you had always meant to me. You returned the favor; I say it like that because I think you just said it to get your way. Because if it had been the truth, you’d still be here.

It’s been a month since that and I hate that I let you in - in my apartment, in my new town, in my new chapter, but most of all, I hate that I let you in my heart. Again.

So a month later, you’re back with her. And here I am, being happy for you because I can’t hate you. Trust me, I have tried so hard to hate you for this past month. I am a strong individual and I hate that you have made me weak. I hate that you have made me question my worth. But most of all, in this last month, you have made me hate myself rather than hate you.

You played me like a damn fiddle and you did a damn good job. But this time, you’ve screwed up because I may not be able to ever hate you, but I will never be there for you again. You will not use my willingness to love so fiercely against me again. I hate that you used this gift, a gift that I use so sparingly, against me.

I’ll never look at you the same way as I used to you. Not as a friend. Not as a lover. Not as a gentleman. Not as “one of the good ones.”

All I’ll see when I look at you is that douche of a jock that you turned into way back when because that is the only way I can hope to hate you.