I ignore you so painfully obviously that it's almost like I'm screaming out how much attention I'm actually paying you.

Every turn I make, every single step I take is carefully calculated to be in the opposite direction you're going.

Every turn of my gaze is towards where I know your eyes won't meet mine, and every breath that escapes my mouth leaves my body with the hope that it doesn't mingle with the air around you.

I have to be aware of all of your moves and anticipate your every turn and feel you with every cell in my body, just so I can pretend I'm not doing all these things, because to let you know how much of you is still present in my life would be to destroy myself.

And I can't let that happen, because you already had your turn at my destruction and left broken pieces behind and I don't think I can take many more of these crippling blows.

I hate you.

I hate that I still interact with you every single passing minute, in a way. I hate that I miss you, and I hate that your life is perfect right now, and I hate that you have the audacity to seem happy without me.

I hope it's secretly as hard for you as it is for me and I hope you never talk to me again and I hope that it hurts because you ruined everything and but I made it worse and I want it to stay that way.

Go fuck yourself, really.

But... think of me, sometimes.