I wanted it to be you.
- I hate how you looked at me.
The last time we looked at each other, you smiled softly, and it wasn’t just your lips — it was in your eyes too. You looked at me with fondness, no malice, just pure appreciation. But beneath that warmth, there was something else: goodbye. We didn’t have much time together, but every moment we locked eyes, I felt a sense of safety I hadn’t known before. I hate how I wanted to look into them one more time, just one more minute, as if that could somehow make you stay a little longer.
2. I hate how you put my feelings first.
You left because you thought it was best for me. You said we worked well together, but realistically, we wouldn’t last. You put my feelings first by walking away, even though I know part of you wanted to stay. I understand why we ended things, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering — if I could endure the inevitable pain, do you think we could go back? Could we have tried, even if it meant delaying the hurt?
3. I hate how you kissed me.
I hadn’t kissed anyone in three years. I hate that it was you because now every kiss feels like a betrayal of what we had. During our last kiss, all I could think was, just a little longer. Let me hold onto this, onto you, for just a little longer. But even that moment slipped through my fingers, leaving only the ache of what could never be again.
4. I hate how you called me Pretty Girl.
You probably only called me that because I started it with Pretty Boy. It was a silly nickname, but it warmed my heart every time you said it. It felt like a small, intimate world we created together. I don’t think I ever want to hear that name again.
5. I hate how you made me watch Insidious.
We planned to watch the entire Insidious franchise together, but we only got through the first movie. It was 3 a.m., the room was dark, and you held my hand, squeezing it during every jumpscare to comfort me. The movie ended on a cliffhanger, leaving so many questions unanswered — just like us. I can’t bring myself to finish the franchise because it feels too much like our story. I’ll never know how it ends, just like I’ll never know how things would have worked out between us if we had tried. That lingering sense of unfinished business haunts me, a constant reminder of what could have been but never will be.
6. I hate how you held me.
Your arms were a sanctuary, a refuge where the noise of the world seemed to dissolve into quiet calm. Every time you held me, I felt shielded from the chaos, as if nothing could harm me in that moment. There was a warmth, a quiet understanding in the way you embraced me, like you knew the weight I carried without needing words. I know I’ll find that sense of safety again someday, but why couldn’t it have been you? Why did it have to feel so fleeting, so temporary? Your hold was a promise that we never got the chance to keep, and that’s what I hate the most.
7. I hate that I committed every freckle on your face to memory.
I traced each freckle with my fingers, memorizing them like a map of our connection. I hate that I can still see them in my mind, that they’re etched into my thoughts like constellations. Each freckle, a tiny reminder of the moments we shared, now feels like a cruel echo of what’s been lost.
8. I hate that you pursued me.
Why did you pursue me? You must have known deep down that we wouldn’t last, yet you still pursued me. I foolishly believed in us, in the future, we could have had. I hate that you gave me hope, made me believe in something that was never meant to last. You pursued me, and I let myself fall, only to be left questioning why we ever started.
9. I hate that you made me fall for you.
You didn’t just captivate me — you made me believe in possibilities, in something more. I hate that I fell so completely, so deeply, only to be left picking up the pieces. You made me believe in a connection that now feels heavy and unrelenting. Falling for you was both the best and worst thing that ever happened to me.
10. I hate the way I don’t hate you.
They say gentle goodbyes hurt more than angry ones, and they couldn’t be more right. I wish I could hate you; it would make this so much easier. I wish you had yelled, had left in a storm of anger and resentment. But instead, you spoke softly, your words filled with care and understanding. That kindness makes it harder to let go, harder to move on. It leaves me tangled in the what-ifs and maybes, clinging to the echo of your gentle farewell. I hate that you left with warmth in your eyes, making it impossible for me to hate you. Instead, I’m left with this aching tenderness, wishing for anger that never came.
Goodbye, pretty boy.
