In Between

I'm kidding myself that I don't care. At moments, I feel I just want to give him a hug and hold him tight. But I'm scared it wouldn't make any difference. The more love I gave him, the more he hated it, the more he tried to destroy it.
He keeps buying love. If you take the gift, he hates it, if you don't - he hates it. If I care, he despises it. If I don't care, he despises it.
'You are stupid!' The more I think of these words, the more the child comes out of them. The child that wants something and feels that you just don't get what it wants. And doesn't know how to explain what it wants. It wants you to understand, but it doesn't know how to tell you, show you. So it hates you. For not getting it. For not meeting its expectations. Frustrated.
In the evening, I keep struggling. I want to just go up there and hold him.
But he gets dark. So dark. No mercy. No regrets. I don't know what his cure is. But I might have to accept it's probably not me.