I hate the way the hair on the back of your neck is never even,
I hate the way you wear two plaids together and shorts in the winter.
I hate the way you used to talk to me like I was the only girl alive,
and I hate the way I didn't feel the same way about you.
I hate the way your parents loved me,
and I hate the way my parents loved you more.
I hate the way I got caught that one night we snuck out,
and I hate the way my car broke down another night.
I hate the way you called Weston to help us out,
and I hate the way I can't stop wondering what it would have been like
if you'd called someone else instead.
I hate the way you didn't look at me the same after Weston,
and I hate the way I realized I liked you two weeks too late.
I hate the way you tried to make it work even when you knew it wouldn't,
and I hate the way I wanted you to.
I hate the way my friends suggested you do something special for me on my birthday,
and I hate the way you gave me a teddy bear and handmade bracelet instead of asking me out.
I hate the way I still wore that bracelet months after you couldn't bring yourself to talk to me anymore,
and I hate the way it made me feel closer to you, when you were so far away.
I hate the way I have to stare at the back of your head in first period now,
and I hate the way your hair is still an issue.
But mostly, I hate the way it used to kill me to see your face every morning,
and the way it doesn't anymore.