The heat of my temper. Balanced by the chill of the tiled floor.
The anger running through my veins. Escaping through my pores.
There is no reason to feel this way.
Yet, I do.
And I want to hurt you. I want you to feel bad.
But I don't know why.
I read a passage in my diary.
I took a trip down memory lane
to the times you pierced me with your mixed signals.
I remember the time spent hoping;
The nights spent hurting;
The showers spent crying.
And I felt the hate surge through me.
Even though that's all gone now,
even though it's the past;
I can't let go.
But I can pretend to.