I was mad.

I was mad at myself first.

I was mad because I should have known better. I know the likes of you. The stories I read and the chick flicks I watched warned me about you–a tall good-looking guy who has a way with words and actions.

I knew that somewhere along the road, I would want for more. But I continued hoping like a lovesick fool.

I would stay awake at night thinking why you stopped sending me messages. I would feel bad when you replied with a one-liner when I sent you a long, sweet goodnight. I would feel hurt when I couldn't express my feelings into words and tell you directly because I was too terrified that you'd just disappear.

I was mad because I let my mind think of you and allowed my heart to beat for you. I was mad because I let you run in my veins like my own blood. I was mad because no matter how hard I try, I couldn't get you out of my system.

Then, I was mad at you.

You seemed so ignorant about the way I feel for you.

It was easy to think that maybe I did not make you feel the intensity of my emotions–of how I badly wanted to wrap my arms around your back and intertwine your fingers with mine. Of how badly I wanted to lean my head against your chest and hear your heart beating.

It was easy to think that maybe all I did was to silently be there for you when you needed the exact opposite. You need someone loud enough to snap you out of the trance you're in. It was easy to think that maybe you're scared like me, too. You're scared of how things could be when everything's out in the open.

It was easy for me to make you ignorant and just blame myself.

However, that's not the case. You're not ignorant, and it's not entirely my fault.

From the way you treat me, I know you know how I feel about you. You're not someone who will go out your way to treat a girl to the movies just because. You're not that person yet you still dragged me to a movie house and let me pick what to watch.

You're not someone who will stay outside even when you have a headache. You're not that guy yet you stayed because I told you I'd feel alone.

You knew.

You knew from the very start. Maybe that is why you keep the fire burning. You fan it with your efforts and words. You never intended to love me back. You just want me to be like a spoon out of the thousands you have in your cupboard.

Lastly, I was mad at nothing.

I was just mad. I couldn't direct my anger and frustration to anything.

I was just mad. I was mad, and I can't keep on blaming everything as trivial as your choice of perfume.

I should not be feeling anything for you now, but I still do.

I am still mad, and I still love you.

*Minor edits have been made by the Femalenetwork.com editors

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