Love Just Is

He ruined my life. And he didn’t even seem to care. It was like ruining everything good to me was the only thing he knew how to do. And I hated him for it.

I hated how he walked around campus like he owned it. I hated how he wore those stupid headbands, that didn’t look good on anyone else. I hated his stupid green eyes, his stupid pink lips, his stupid hair, and most of all I hated his stupid fucking dimples. I hated him.

I really hated how his I-just-woke-voice was slower than his normal one, if that was even possible, and that hearing it could make me go weak in the knees. I hated that he could make me weak in the knees without even trying. I hated that his arms were the most comfortable place for me; they were where I felt safe. I hated the sweet nothings he’d whisper into my ear when he tried to comfort me. And I hated that they always worked. I hated how soft his lips were, how when they touched mine everything else melted away. I hated that feeling his lips against my skin felt so nice, that he knew my weak spots, and that he could make me feel vulnerable.

I hated how he made fun of my music but learnt all the words either way and how he’d sing to me when I asked him too. I hated how he’d steal the food off my plate and act like he hadn’t. I hated how well he’d gotten along with my parents, and surprisingly enough my brother the first time I’d brought him home. I just really hated him.

The one thing I hated most about him though was how much I loved him. How even though I felt like he ripped my heart right out of my chest and stomped all over it I still loved him. And I really hated how he wouldn’t just let me hate him in peace. Every time I tried to move on, or thought for just a second that maybe I was finally getting over him he’d show up at my flat entirely charming and I’d take him back. Even though I told myself I wasn’t his and he wasn’t mine.

I hated Harry Edward Styles and how much I loved him.