Confession

There are days when I still look at you and wonder why I ever let you slip away from me.

There are nights when I lock myself in my room and watch movies with sappy romantic endings and I think to myself, "That's how it was gonna be for us." There are nights when I still curl up with that stupid old jacket of yours, the one you let me keep, and I cry myself to sleep. There are moments when I'm with you that I still feel the urge to slip my hand into yours, or pull your face down to mine and just kiss you hard on the lips, or just hold on to you so tightly and never let go.

Of course, these are things I'd never tell you myself. How could I? We're done now, we're still best friends, and that's all that should matter to me.

So...why? Why do you take advantage of me, of the feelings that I still and probably always will have for you? Why do you still crush your lips to mine when we're alone, still thread your fingers through my hair and pull me close to you? Why, after you broke my heart and half my sanity, do you think that you can still pull this kind of crap and get away with it?

That last one's easy: it's because I let you.

It's because, when you look at me that way as if to say, "Please? Just for old time's sake?" I just can't resist you.

It's because, in those moments when your body is pressed to mine again and I feel those sensations and smell those scents and taste those tastes that have become so familiar to me, it's easy for me to pretend that you're still mine.

I hate you for it. You messed me up, you broke me, and yet you still think you can do this to me.

But most of all, I hate myself for allowing it to happen to me.

Why?