“Shut up, man!” “God, he’s so negative.” “Does anything make him happy?”

You are so deeply hated, you know that? And it’s almost entirely your fault. You whine and cheat and question and curse and insult. But I say almost entirely because part of it’s the other people too, isn’t it? You might be softer if they didn’t snap at you all the time. They fire words with their crossbows, so you set the arrows aflame and shoot them back. That’s how things have been since you arrived, and will likely stay until we leave.

And even then, there is something so mysteriously addicting about you. You aren’t afraid to contradict; I’d venture to say you thrive on discord. But really you don’t - you can’t - because no human being can. That is where you are weak. You think you can and so you constantly muster all this hate inside you. You’re a hard soul; you need someone to shove you into a blaze and throttle you and melt you down.

But you know what the worst part is? About being addicted to you? You look like an angel. I’m not kidding. Everything that the bad guy’s supposed to be: the long, dark hair, scarred, rugged face, rough-hewn and tanned and dirty? You’re the absolute physical opposite. Lanky, fair, immaculate. Not a trace of discord. You look like you dropped from heaven itself, you and your sweet blond curls… I remember one day in class distinctly. You sit by the window, and the sunshine was pouring over your face. Your skin was so smooth and flawless and illuminated… What are you?! You and your personality are a walking contradiction, but aren’t all humans? And yet we can’t be. We must find peace and solace and truth. But your looks lie about who you are everyday.

That is why I’m addicted to you. Not attracted to, not in love with, not dreaming about. Rather, haunted by.

My angel is a cynic.