I hate that she leaves chats without saying goodbye. Grrr.
I hate that she does things for people who can fucking do it themselves! (I DESPISE those fuckers who keep popping up and asking her for stuff. What? Too stupid to think/do it yourselves?!?)
I hate that she doesn’t know how to let go, worries about things she knows she has no control of. (Comes with wanting to be a dominatrix, I suppose.)
I hate that she can cook anything—and I mean anything—even when she’s not prepared and there’s not enough time.
I hate that she lives far away from me.
I hate that she works too much.
I hate that she gives too much.
I hate that she gives the best advice.
I hate that she is usually right.
I hate that she has the ability to make me worry when I’m the Queen of I-Don’t-Care Land.
I hate that she knows what I’m thinking, even before I say what’s on my mind.
I hate that she knows what I’m feeling, even when I say “I’m okay, babe,” she knows it’s a lie.
I hate that she is nice to people who don’t even deserve her smiles.
I hate that when she’s sad, she makes me sad too.
I hate that she can make me laugh even when I cry.
I hate that she doesn’t always see the great things in herself.
I hate that compared to what she has achieved I haven’t done enough out of my life.
I hate that she makes me want to be a better person, and I’m forced to do it too because if I don’t, I’ll look like a loser when we stand side by side.
I hate that, no matter what happens, even without me, she’ll always do fine.
I hate that, even with all the breath, smiles and tears of all my life, I’m only going to be second best Book Bitch, yet still makes me love her with all my might.
Labels: trollop and harlot’s stuff