[ WP ] The most hateful , spiteful , bitter confession of undying love .

Damn him. Damn him because I hate him with everything I have. 
 But that's not true, is it? It's not. It's not. I hate him because I love him, I love him because I love him, and the hate is only frustration against myself. 
 It's his wedding but it feels like my funeral. Oh, yes, the wedding, the wonderful wedding where I am supposed to raise my glass and cheer and give a speech without letting an ounce of bitter on my face, the wedding where I will beat myself up for not having her figure or personality, or their relationship, the day I will drink myself sober into realizing we can never be together. 
 And if we could, I would n't do that. No matter how badly I want to, I ca n't. I should n't. 
 I ca n't hate her either, though I should. I should hate her dark brown creamy hair that sweeps the air and sweeps his love into her grasp. I should hate her matching brown eyes, two, always two. Two is a couple. Two is a win. Two is a Fibbonanci number. 
 I want to mutter so is three, but oh three, how unimportant you are when someone is dressed in white. 
 How I would like to stain her pearly white dress with red wine and pretend I had stabbed her heart like she is doing to mine. How I would like to pretend that I am dancing in her place instead of sitting where I do n't belong. How I would like to belong with him. 
 
 I go home early, feigning a fever, nursing a heart.
