Pent-up

I hate people. I hate how they’re lonely. I hate how they think too much. I hate how they dodge their feelings, their needs, their wants. I hate how they make things too complicated. I hate how they cry at the night, in the dark. I hate how they’re empty. I hate how they’re reckless. I hate their assumptions. I hate how they think. I hate how they analyze. I hate their stares. I hate their tongues, always moving to convey what they want to say. I hate how they’re so problematic. I hate their illnesses. I hate their thoughts. I hate how they socialize. I hate how they flirt. I hate how they look. I hate how they pretend to know. I hate how they know. I hate their willingness. I hate how they’re too happy. I hate how they’re uninterested. I hate their instincts. I hate that they’re strangers. I hate their selfishness. I hate how they’re villains. I hate their curiosity.

I love people. I love how they share. I love how they care when it seems like they don’t. I love how they’re beautiful. I love their ideas. I love their aspirations. I love their weird dreams. I love how they’re so rapt in something; a book, the sunset, somebody. I love their selflessness. I love how they’re shy. I love how dauntless they look when they feel like they’re vulnerable. I love their smiles. I love the sense they make. I love how mysterious they are. I love their theories. I love their laughter. I love how heart-achingly perfect they look when they cry. I love their secrets. I love how they’re heroes. I love how they’re complete. I love their silence. I love their progression. I love how they don’t care.