Hate

It’s hard to say that because of someone you end up hating things, places, or people you don’t even know—but it’s true. 

I hate having to think about where to go before going out, just to avoid running into you. It makes me hate those places you and I never got to go to. 

I hate that my family might see you with someone else who isn’t me. I hate that you feel no shame and still dare to say hello. 

I hate you, because you don’t suffer the way I do. 

I hate someone I don’t know—their face, their name—and I know there are several faces and names I hope I never come to know. 

I hate that suddenly I feel the need to know about you, and I stalk you to find out about your life, only to block you again.

I hate that I have this parasocial relationship with you, in which I was just a mistake in your life, and now I don’t exist. 

I hate that I have to force myself to get you out of my head and my heart in order to be happy without you.

Photography by Carlos Arturo Gómez Robles