Six

I’ll keep holding my breath.

Until one of us bends.

Until one of us breaks and talks to the other.

No matter how long it takes.

I’m sick to my stomach, with every second that you’re leaving.

But it always brings me peace, knowing that you’re still breathing.

I hate you.

I really fucking hate you.

I know that this isn’t true.

I know that’s it’s all talk.

It’s something that I could never do.

You hate me.

You really fucking hate me.

And deep down, I know that you truly do.