What hurts more, is I would still die for you
Sometimes I wish I had never met you. Or that I did, but I hated you. Either one would be preferable to this. But it's almost worth it, even though I hate being so dependent upon you for the happiness that you never provide. When you pay even the smallest amount of attention to me, I damn near die. And I hate that more than I can explain. But my arms will always be available, should you feel the need to fall into them.