love/hate.

You make me hate the summer and the morning light and the coffee mug which touched your mouth yet I won’t throw it out.
A little piece of you can be found in the ordinary places I come across on my commute to work. Even at night, I hate the silence because I can somehow hear your shallow breathing coming from the opposite side of the bed.
A phantom presence has come to linger, haunting the very steps we used to take together. The restaurant–you know the one on that corner near that coffee shop–is no longer my place of refuge. The wine is less flavorful, the bread always cold. I eat anyways since I need the energy just to get back to the apartment you once paid half for.

Funny though, how I could hate these things and yet still fall more in love with you even when you’re gone.

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