I hate the way you smiled at me from across the hallway as you went to third period, and the beautifully stupid ring of your laugh as it cut through the air.
I hate the speechless face you made at 2 in the morning while we sat on your rooftop in the 28 degree weather, numbing our hands and toes.
I hate that when we’re with other friends, the only one I think about is you.
I hate the tingles that went down my spine as your hands touched my waist, pushing me higher and higher on the swing set at the park in the middle of the night.
I hate you for trying to scare me as I walked up the staircase to class by squeezing my hips from behind, sending warmth from your cool fingertips through my body and up to my cheeks, tinting them red as you ran off laughing in the hallway.
I hate that you gave me your sweater to wear when I got drenched as we ran through the pouring rain together to your car. I hate myself for falling asleep while the storm pattered outside in the empty school parking lot.
I hate you for making me feel safe.
Jesus Christ, I hate you.
Which is really my way of saying: I’m in love with you.