It's been a while.

I miss you.

I miss everything. I miss your eyes, your scent that used to play around my nose every time you come near me--like the uninvited thoughts of me wanting to kiss you that very moment. I miss your hands, your long, slender fingers that you always used to run through your hair. I miss your face that was especially made by the hand of God. I miss the string quartet that always plays on the back of my mind every time you're near me. I miss the songs that we used to talk about. I miss your voice accompanied by a thousand singing angels every time you speak. I miss your laugh, a low chuckle designed for quite a reserved person that you are. I miss your smile especially when you do it for me--the single, most effortless act you can do to render me incapable of feeling nothing but sole adoration towards you.

I hate you.

I hate your eyes that you direct towards people who don't care about you. I hate that even through your peripheral vision you can't seem to see that I am here looking at you the way you look toward the girls you like. I hate the insecurity that this brings, the feeling that I will never be good enough--and it creeps through me like the way your scent used to linger around my senses: unwelcome but nevertheless coming through, like a shot of poison that is slowly killing me. I hate the songs that we used to talk about and how I would instantly be reminded of you the moment I hear them play. I hate how I would sometimes even hear your voice at the back of my head singing those songs and how I would secretly smile to myself, but let that smile instantly fade away because I know i am supposed to forget it. I am supposed to forget you. I hate your thoughts that speak of nothing but words that you know will hurt me. I hate that I feel you have done all those things intentionally. Most of all, I hate how I know you will treat this letter as nothing but an awkward confession of love and rage from someone you couldn't care less about.

I hate the fact that I am now in the process of convincing myself that I am supposed hate you and everything that reminds me of you because it's the only way that I know to finally get over how I feel.

I want you.

I want you to tell me that everything's okay, that all those evil theories I have constructed in my mind from those years of infatuation and hatred swinging back and forth are not true. I want you to show me that you are not a bad person, that you are still the one that knocked me off my feet the moment you first smiled at me and did a mock salute as a gesture of "hey, nice to meet you". I want you to tell me the truth, no matter how hurtful you think it would be. I know I can get through it someday.

I love you.

I just know that I love you. Still. Always. I still love you because it was so easy for me to write the first part of this letter and how hard it is to write the second one. I still hope and wait for the possibility of the third part of this letter coming true. I love you because even after I was clearly hurt, the hope that you will find someone that will make you happy triumphs over the negative feelings I have towards you. I love you and I don't want you to push the people that care for you away, because I don't want you to be alone.

I love you so much that it has come to the point where I don't feel anything anymore. I love you so much that I am starting to doubt the power of the very feeling that I have and whether it really exists. I love you so much that I know that what I have will never be enough. Maybe all unrequited love will somehow come to this, where the person simply gets tired of showing affection to someone who doesn't feel the same. Maybe the person did not really grow tired--she had just become aware of the fact that the more she gives, the more it will hurt in the end. I am not really sure what happened in this case; maybe both. And I fear the day that I'll start to forget you; because I know that all I have now of the love I used to treasure are the memories that time is slowly evanescing away.