They say that the opposite of love is indifference.
And now I understand why.
Because you can only hate someone you once loved deeply.
Someone you let in. Someone you let through. Someone you trusted with your most vulnerable parts.
We don't get angry at strangers.
We are angry at those who were close to us.
At those who embraced us — and then hurt us.
Who said “forever” — and disappeared first.
Love and hate are not enemies.
They are brothers. Neighbors. They walk side by side, holding hands.
They live in the same heart, just at different moments in time.
At first, you are ready to give him everything.
And then — you don't want to hear his name.
At first, you miss him.
And then — you remember with pain.
And you don't know what's worse:
that you were together,
or that now — you are apart forever.
I hated how much I loved him.
For allowing myself to be real.
For putting him above myself.
But you know what's strange?
Love still lived in that hatred.
Wrapped in resentment.
Hiding behind anger.
Whispering, “If only you knew how important it was to me...”
Now I understand:
💔 Love doesn't die in a day.
It just stops breathing when it's not cherished.
And sometimes hatred is its last attempt to be heard.
But one day, everything is let go.
It becomes even. Quiet. Calm.
And you no longer love.
But you don't hate either.
You just... lived this story.
And that means you were alive.
And that's a lot.