You hated the sound that the clock made; ticking away the sounds of our lives, and making us wish that we all had more time.

You hated how I was always curled up in a ball on the third seat of your garage couch instead of listening to the song that you wrote about me. It was the one that you were always practicing.

You hated how I wrote free verse poetry, and you said that it was nothing worth reading because it didn’t rhyme. You hated how I was never on time.

You hated the world and how it was. You hated the word ‘love’. You hated how I said that you hated everything, and replied by saying that you didn’t hate me.

You hated the way that I always played with your hair when it was curly, and you hated how I always said that I was sorry.

But, I’m sorry that I loved you. I’m sorry that I lit a candle, brought you flowers, and said a few words.

I could’ve sworn that I heard you ask me, ‘who is going to be there when the candle burns out and the flowers wilt?’ as I stared at your name in the stone.

You hated the way that the clocks tick. I actually love it, because with each tick, I’m closer to you.