The Architect of My Ruin

I curse the way you held the light,
For being kind, for staying late,
For weaving through my tangled night
And never buckling ‘neath the weight.
I hate the quiet, steady shelf
Where all my restless "yapping" lay;
You mirrored back my truest self,
Then asked that self to walk away.
I hate the hope you planted deep,
The way you understood the scar,
The promises you didn't keep
By being exactly who you are.
For pushing back, for "being wise,"
For lack of nerve to choose the "us,"
For seeing through my thin disguise
With heart so calm and treacherous.
But here’s the thorn, the jagged line,
The bitter salt upon the dew:
I cannot make your malice mine.
I cannot find the "hate" for you.