brownian motion

i hate when the lights on the crosswalk switch red right as i approach
and when tobacco smoke ahead dusts my face on the street.

i hate that bok choy wilts and rots even
when i keep it in the fridge in the
little drawer for the vegetables, and
i hate that you tell me everything
and tell me nothing at all

i hate that your will to live―and enjoy life―
is so much stronger than mine, that you
find joy and wonder in the world even
when it hurts you (how do you do it?) and
i hate to think that i might hold you back

i hate that i can never stay mad at you
for long, i hate the way you disarm
me with your smile and the noises
you make against the pillow
when you’re tired

i hate that you’re so kind and
caring and
industrious and
indifferent and i hate
that i love you

but i do