i hate the way you make me feel. that’s probably the worst of it all. it’s a combination of reminiscence, joy, and utter despair all mixed up in the pit of my stomach until i can hardly breathe. and it happens every time i see you, or when you’re in the room, or even when i think about you and you’re not even there. and i hate the power you have over me. i wish i could pull myself out of your chokehold and beat you to the ground and make you pay for everything you did to me, what you said to me, how you make me feel. but i can’t. because in that awful mixture there’s a tiny, tiny splash of hope somewhere in there. hope that it’ll go back to the way it used to be.
and that is what keeps me from letting go.