For He Who Is Unnamed

It's raining, and I'm here curled up in the driver's seat, far away from home. I just wasted a couple of liters of gas from wandering around EDSA trying to get to my destination. I've been driving at 80kmph in the pouring rain, low visibility, scared silly of the cars and trucks breezing by. A senile old lady just hit my car with her door. I have just probably gone through one of the worst days of my life, and yet, here I am, thinking of you, not giving a damn for the world around me.

Is that not ample measure as to how much I like you?

No matter how bad things turn out for me, I find myself wishing you were there to laugh with me through it. If things were good, I'd look for you, hoping we could share that small moment of bliss. Every waking moment I find myself looking forward to seeing you again.

This is it. I'm moving past denial. All those months of telling myself that my feelings for you were sheer fantasy and were unreal are coming to an end. I realize now that I really do care for you. And in realizing the truth, I have no other choice but to be angry at myself.

I am angry because I am weak. I succumbed to my emotions; I did not heed the STOP sign in front of me. And now, here I am, deciding if I should severe ties, force myself back into denial, or act numb and wait until the feeling goes away. I have eliminated indulgence as an option because that would just be digging my own grave.

I hate myself. And I need to learn how to hate you. For more than two years of my life I've managed to avoid getting hurt, and I will not allow you the gratification of being able to make me cry. I will not bring myself to love you. Remember that.