You were a dream.

You came in the darkest of my nights and faded with the first touch of sun.

I hate you for teaching me how to hope again.
I hate how, sometimes, I wait on the porch. In case.
I hate you for leaving even though it was beyond your control.
I hate you for not coming back when it was beyond your control to do so.
I hate you for your scent no longer clinging to anything of mine.
I hate you for the way time does not change for me; and for you, it has been years and decades and perhaps more--that you will change and I will not. I will forever be in this place, tasting you, hearing you, wishing you, remembering you, and it will be as fresh to me as the first time I smelled molten metal from the forge and from inside your veins.

I hate you.
I will always
love you.