“I love you—”
“I love you too.”
“... But so what?”
Their flat reeked despondence. A culmination from a decade of pent up resentment towards one another. “I can’t waste myself hating someone I don’t love,” he once said — it wasn’t of her, back then, rather, an acquaintance of theirs. And yet, here and now, he hated her, but that meant loving her as well. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, is an idealised version of them tha...