I hate myself for still wanting you,

For the quiet pull of midnight’s call,

When shadows creep where memories grew,

And echoes of us stain the walls.

I hate myself for every sigh,

For the way your name still tastes like wine,

For the tears that fall when I close my eyes,

And the dreams that drag me back through time.

I hate the way your ghost still lingers,

Tracing paths my hands can’t find,

The touch that slips through desperate fingers,

The love I’ve left but can’t unwind.

I hate myself for every day,

I wake and hope to see your face,

For loving you in a thousand ways,

And losing you in a single space.

But most of all, I hate the truth,

That in the quiet of the night,

I’d trade the world and all its proof,

Just to have you hold me tight.

So here I am, alone again,

With heartstrings tangled, tied in two,

I hate myself for still wanting you,

But hating you was never true.