Hating someone you don't really hate: 10 Things I hate about you revisited

            My mind wanders down some really random paths sometimes. I was thinking about Shakespeare, then thought of his work The Taming of the Shrew. After that it turned toward a newer version of it, a movie I fell in love with when I was a teenager. Of course the end of the movie has one of the best moments, when the “shrew” admits she’s fallen in love.  If I were going to rewrite the last speech Kat gives at the end of 10 Things I hate about you, it would go something like this-

            I hate myself for missing you. For all the stolen little moments we had. I hate myself for missing the timbre of your voice, especially the way you said my name. I hate the way I felt my skin was on fire at your slightest touch. How I could feel the build up start in my toes when I was near you. How I didn’t want any time we spent to end, because I could have stayed in that moment with you for what felt like forever.

            I hate how I wanted it to be you when the phone rang- that moment before I realized it wasn’t, and my heart jumped at the chance. How little things I saw when I was out would remind me of you, and I’d have to give myself a little lecture about how if you wanted to be here, you would be. Then that little piece inside would break apart again.

            I hate how I excused every fault you had, because I was falling for you. I allowed you to get away with so much- all my walls were breached. How you started to invade my dreams- I dreamt of things I never had before. I’d wake up smiling, wondering if I was just a romantic idiot, or did you do the same? Would you tell me if you dreamt about me too?

            I hate that I wasn’t the woman of your dreams- the one who drove you to the brink of madness, and the one you desired. That when you looked at me, you didn’t see something that was missing- you saw past me to someone and something else. I didn’t stir something inside you, someone you felt you couldn’t live without. When you looked at me you didn’t see possibility- you saw limitation.

            I hate missing the way your hands felt in mine, the way your breath felt when you whispered in my ear. That I could make eye contact with you without wanting to look away- you knew I hated looking people in the eye.  How I can remember every bit of the first time we kissed- every move you made, and all my reactions.

            I hate how much your presence calmed me- you had no idea how anxious I could be. I hate how much I dug your style, a suave sophistication I hadn’t encountered before. How you weren’t intimidated by me, or so I thought.  How I could catch you looking at me in the corner of my eye, and the spontaneous smile that would play across my lips once I acknowledged it.

            I hate that I didn’t really know you. I thought I did, or at least was starting to. I thought we’d have time. I wanted you so badly, I ignored all the rest. I hate that in my rush, I pushed you away instead.

“But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

Did you think this was about you? Pffft. Maybe you should ask, (but seriously- don't flatter yourself).