Hate comes and goes, but hate that we are not the same as in the memory
We hate each other for not being like our original selves.
Just like two trees growing together, their roots are entangled underground, but their branches and leaves have grown farther and farther apart over the years. When the wind blows, the leaves will collide with each other and make a rustling sound, like complaining or sighing.
They were like two grasses wilted by a heavy rain, lying in the mud, complaining that the other blocked their own light, but their roots were deep and entangled with each other, and neither one could live without the other.
The rain outside the window has stopped, and the sun shines through the clouds and shines on the fresh green on the windowsill. It is a bit dazzling, and the days have to go on. With this hatred and the inexplicable ties, day after day, life has to continue, love continues, and hate also continues.
Neither of us mentioned separation, but we knew we could never go back to the past. Love has been ground into powder over a long period of time, leaving only some inexplicable ties, like the rose in full bloom on the windowsill, with thorns, but reluctant to remove it.
After all, the worst revenge in the world is not to leave, but to stay with you and watch you and I torture each other.
Intention: love