I hate when I like them.
When they smile a smile so deceiving that only a fool would believe it.
I hate when they kiss me.
A kiss so passionate, I could forget the world.
Why do they kiss me? I already know what I can’t have.
I hate when they hold my hand.
Because it’s warm and comforting, and at that moment, I feel like I’m his.
I hate that I like him.
I wonder if he feels the same when he’s lying next to her.