“She says ‘I hate you’—but only to the ones she never stopped loving.”
When he said it was over, it didn’t just end—it ripped right through her. She should’ve seen it coming. The way it all unraveled was already written in the way they first looked at each other—too intense, too fast, too doomed. But when it hit, it still felt like betrayal. Now she stares at her phone like it owes her an apology. Like maybe this time, he’ll say something. Anything. But nothing comes. Last night probably destroyed whatever was left. And maybe that’s what hurts the most—realizing the silence is the closure.
She used to text in all caps, rage in one breath, regret in the next—“fuck you,” “i miss you,” “i hate you so much.” But people like her only say “I hate you” when they’re still clinging to love. That’s the thing—love never leaves her quietly. The highs, the lows, it’s a storm she never learned how to step out of. He told her to be real. She tried. But how can she be real when everything she gives gets turned into too much?
Now her phone stays on silent. Not because she doesn’t want to hear from him…
But because she knows he won’t call.