• It's odd how you
    have become a euphemism,
    how a pronoun
    is a nicer way
    to say your name.

    I hate
    how furious you
    make me,
    even from 10,000
    miles away.

    I hate it when
    your smug grin
    flashes through my mind
    like a glint off
    a falling drop of water.

    I hate it when I miss you,
    when I start
    thinking
    of how delicate you could be,
    of how happy I could make you.

    I wish I could say
    that I hated you
    in your entirety-
    but that would be too easy,
    that would be such
    a simple lie.

    No,
    I love parts of you
    desperately
    and longingly
    like a misfit teenager
    sighing over a crush.

    Which is why
    I hate it when
    I miss you,
    I hate it when
    I say your name,
    I hate it
    because I know you had me,
    but mostly
    I hate it because you knew too.