Sometimes I miss you.
I do not like to admit it and sometimes I refuse to accept it; but I do it.
And I hate you for it.
For making me miss a person who does not exist, for deceiving me and making me want to live in ignorance.
Because I thought everything was fine, and believing your lies made me happy.
And I miss you; but I hate you for it.
Because despite knowing now that nothing you said was true, I'm still waiting for this to end; yearning for everything to be a mistake and come back, and be the same as before.
But I miss you, and I hate you for it.
Because you were not real.
And in the end I realized what you really were.
Only a stranger.