I hate that you’re willing to listen. I hate that you’re there in the end to make it all alright. I’d hate to think that I’m just making careless assumptions and that you’re just like the rest of them. But I would also hate to think that you’re different. Because I know what that would mean and I don’t know if I’d take it as well as I would if I’d hated you.

It’s impossible to stay mad at you. I wish you’d just let me keep my anger long enough so I could gather enough strength to walk away. But no. You always have to know what to say, when to say it. I wish you didn’t have to be so revoltingly sweet. I wish you’d just let me have my fight once in a while. Can I just tell you how much I hate it sometimes?

Or perhaps just how much I really adore you.

“I’m not calling for a second chance,
I’m screaming at the top of my voice,
Give me reason, but don’t give me choice,
Cos I’ll just make the same mistake again…”

Seriously.
I know it meant nothing for you.
No strings attached?
A woman heart is not strong enough to carry that burden.