I don't want you. Well, not really anyways. I like the idea of you and all the things you could entail. I like to think of how cute it would be to be with you. To hold your hand and have friends of mine sneak cute pictures of us, like they have in the past. To nap with you and wake up next to you. To spend the before and after work time with you, but not all the time. To go to shows and pride with you. (Don't assume your gender because I can't.) To kill the loneliness with you. To make love to you or to fuck violently with you, whichever you prefer. To drag you into stores with me and make you watch me try on dress after dress and help me decide. Or to try on dresses together, in the same fitting room. For fun, for drag, or because you actually like to. Eat Ramen out of coffee mugs and consume delicious drinks only to be turned into not-so-delicious piss, unless you're into that sort of thing. (To each their own.) But I do not like the idea of the sad look on your face when I pull away suddenly. Or how your heart must ache when your texts, calls, and instant messages go unanswered. Or what you must think when I start shouting at you, for no reason at all or for all of the reasons. I don't like the idea of subjecting you to every manic high and instantaneous manic lows. I do not like the idea of the jealously that turns my toes green, only for me to see. I do not like how you cloud my head or on the occasion leave it entirely as I lust after that boy in the hall. I don't like how you keep things from me, and me from you. I don't like your disdain towards how my friends and I interact. I don't like when you push me away and tell me my mouth tastes like an astray. (I can hear the disgust laced into your tone.) I don't like being your's, feeling owned. And I don't like how sometimes I just can't get off because you're around or the rhythm just isn't right. I don't like all the disappointment scattered across your face or the distance between us. I don't like the good and the bad, or the unconvincing smiles, or the hearty goodbyes and hollow hellos. I don't like the way I like you, not even a little bit, not even at all. And I loathe the way I love you, fully, wholeheartedly, mind-numbingly all together.