Love and War
Love is like war: simple to begin, but the devil to get out of.


I... really hate it, sometimes. I hate the smiles, I hate the frowns, I hate the words. I hate the way people look at me and expect things from me. I hate the way people look at me and expect that I can't do anything. I hate it.

I hate my childhood. I hate the fact that I feel guilty for having a childhood to hate.

I hate... him.

But it's not really that. No, it's not that at all. I love him. And that's what I hate most of all.

I hate that he loves me so much, and that I don't love him enough. I hate the way it feels when he smiles at me--because I don't deserve to be the only person who can get to those smiles. I hate being the one, the only one--because I'm drifting away, and he's bleeding me dry.

I'm not strong enough, not in any way. I can't live the way he does, and I can't force him to live the way I do. And I can't leave him. Not without hurting him in a way no one deserves to be hurt, a way he's already been hurt too many times. I... can't do that to him.

But I can't do this to myself.

It's... so miserable.

But I blame myself. I'm the only one I can blame. I'm the one who was pressing forward, who was demanding. I should have listened. I should have listened because I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have treated this like a game, because it's not. It's far too serious for that.

I thought I was serious. And somehow, I managed to convince everyone else of it, too. But I was just a silly little girl, playing with fire when I shouldn't have been, too excited to stop, to blind to care.....

I've grown up now, and I can see a lot more. I can see how this will end up--how it's bound to play out. And I hate it.

But I have only myself to blame.