This is satisfying to me.
I hate myself for missing you because I know you didn’t care about me and you were bad for me. I know this but I still miss having someone hold me and say they loved me even if it was a lie. Everytime I hear “I love you,” it’s a lie. But now I am okay with this. My sadness is a comfort I’m too afraid to leave. Getting better isn’t something I want anymore.
