I hate you, but I still I miss you, and a part of me still loves you.
Whenever I start feeling too arrogant about myself, I always make a trip to America. The immigration guys kick the star out of stardom. They always ask me how tall I am and I always lie and say 5 feet 10 inches. Next time, I am going to get more adventurous. If they ask me ‘what color are you?’ I am going to say white.
Angry, and half in love with you, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.