F*** Yeah, Hopeless Romantics

12 notes

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big, dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick — It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh — Even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it that you’re not around. And the fact that you don’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you — Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.