Sick.

I'm sick of you.
Of wanting you, sick of being let down time and time again, sick of getting my hopes up when you say "I'll come and visit you" and getting so excited, running around trying to make myself look nice for you, trying to escape the fact that I know you won't turn up. I hate it, I hate the disappointment I get from you.
Despite all this, I still want need you, your kisses and cuddles. To see you smile and laugh.