I treat you worse than I treat anyone else because I'm still angry at you. I could choose to be grateful, but I am not that strong, not that forgiving. Sometimes I want to be a good person, and for the most part I manage to be an OK one, but you just bring out the worst in me. The scars we've given each other are open wounds and they light the flames of my ire when we fight, making me harsher with you than I am with others. I hate you because I need you, you are so bad for me but you are so much a part of my life. Sometimes I like you more than I hate you, or enough to forget I do. I want to love you, or at least the idea of you. You can't give me what I want but I don't know who I'd be without you.