I hate how you give me butterflies, that you make my stomach tie nots over and over again.
I hate that I'm vulnerable to pain like I am serving my heart on a silver platter expecting you to grasp it in your hands and squeeze it as hard as you can, until it shatters into a million pieces.
I hate that I love you with all that I am. But mostly I hate that I can give myself all to you and still expect you to never want me.
