I Hate

I hate that you died.

I hate that you make me cry.

I hate that I wear you in a ring on my hand. A tiny pile of ashes.

I hate that I dumped you in the Chicago River, on the beach in Northport Michigan, and on the corner of 4th and Troy in Royal Oak, where we started all our walks.

I hate that we won’t ever laugh about how stupid I am about men, over beers ever again.

I hate that you’re going to miss the rest of our lives.

I hate that you won’t ever meet who ever I do end up with.

I hate that my dad had to go, so quickly after you.

I hate MoyaMoya.

I hate that you couldn’t be fixed.

I hate that you would never hurt me, and I’m in so much pain.

I hate that I can’t talk to you. Or walk with you.

I hate that we will never eat at Bastone again.

I hate that life had other plans for you.

I hate that our time together was so short.

I hate that I’ll miss you for the rest of my life.

I hate that you have to miss the next party.

I hate not hearing you laugh.

I hate the hole you left in my heart.

I hate the idea of never knowing you.

I hate the idea of never having your friendship.

I hate you not being here everyday.

I hate this.