An Endless Return to You

I hate the way I feel about you.

I hate how I still cave

at every word you say,

every touch, every want,

as if my heart never learned

what my mind has begged it to forget.

I hate the way I feel with you.

Because when I look at you,

I still love you like we were kids,

before the wounds had names,

before love became something

I had to survive.

But beneath it all,

there is anger.

There is hurt.

There is pain that has burrowed so deep

it rots me from the core,

quietly feeding on every part of me

that still reaches for you.

I can’t hate you

the way I want to.

I can’t love you

the way I want to.

So I remain,

caught between leaving you forever

and wanting you forever,

between the door I need to close

and the hand I still pray will stop me.

I try to let go,

but there is too much force pulling me in.

Every time I think I’ve escaped,

I find myself back where I began,

loving you,

resenting you,

losing myself somewhere between the two.

A Möbius loop with no other side,

no beginning,

no end,

just me circling the same wound

until I can no longer tell

whether I’m trying to escape you

or find my way back home.