And I hate that. I've spent so much time telling myself that I hate him. Hes done enough so that I should. But I just read the shirt I stole from him to sleep in. And I love him. God fucking damn it! It hurts so much. I don't want to love him. I want to hate him! It would be so much easier! I wouldn't hurt as much if I could just hate him. But instead I love him. I fucking love him. Which means as long as I do, I'll end up hurting myself again and again. I'll go there, because I want to, because I love him, and realize once again there is no place for me there. It'll be his wife being pissy because I didn't tell them earlier, and they don't have a third porkchop for me. Or it'll be her passive agressive shit that I put up with every second I'm over there. Or it'll be that they are all preoccupied with whatever the hell they always do. And I'll sit there ackwardly, wondering why Michaela (my two year old little sister) is the only one who wants to do anything with me. Why shes the only one who will interact with me. And then I'll watch as the fuck her up. Just like he did me. She'll do something, reach out to him, and it wil be heaqrt breaking when he doesn't react. And I'll go upstairs and wonder how the hell this can still hurt. After everything. How can I still love him? I fooled myself into thinking that I might actually be free of this pain. But I'm not. I fucking love him. So I sit here and feel this pain, because I want to go there. To their house, and I know it'll hurt. I know I'll just sit there, and yet, I crave time with my dad. But if I go, I'll come back with the same want. To have spent time with him, to have been with him. Only it'll add the pain of knowing that he doesn't do that. Even when I'm there, even when I try, its never enough. So I sit here, my heart on the point of a knife. I can choose to go to him, knowing I'll feel that pain. Or I can stay here, and feel the pain of this. KNowing I love him, and want to go to him. I want to feel that he loves me too. And he might, he probably does, but fuck me if he does anything to help the ache I feel. I don't know. I just feel like I'm desperate for something, and I know I'll never get it. Never. He'll never love me the way I want him to. But every once in a while, he'll give me a taste. Not much, just enough. When I'm close to getting over this addiction, he'll give me just enough to remember how much I need it. How much I love him. And it starts it all again. I can't break through. I'll still be here years from now, wondering which will hurt less. wondering why I still love him. Wishing I didn't. Because I don't want it to hurt anymore. Because I'm tired of the pain. Because I want it to end. This perpetual cycle that we have, where it always hurts, it feels good enough to restart the pain. Always just on the tip of hurting to much, almost enough to make it all end, and then he'll do something. He'll do something sweet, or funny, or it'll just ne us, and we'll connect again, and its enough to send me back, spiralling back into that black hole of pain and hurt. And I want it to end. But i don't. I just want it not to hurt. I want him to be who I need him to be. I don't want to hate him. I want to be with him and not have it hurt. I want to be able to love him completely, without the pain mixed with the love. I just want him to love me. Really love me. Because I love him. Fuck, I love him. How the fuck can I love him?