Love, Hate You

Tell me, how do you love someone so dear,
and learn hate in its extremes whenever he's near?
Is it a bold clue of what shouldn't be,
or is this the blank face of a lover's reality?
Am I to blame for brewing deeply inside
when he presses upon things I try to hide?
Shouldn't we be comfortable to openly discuss
without worrying about conflicting or making a fuss?
Did I do wrong when I questioned too far
or is it his secrecy when he covers every scar?
Don't I have the right to know what's going on,
or should I be minding my business hereon?
Is it fair for me to want to hurt him sometime
when he's in trouble but won't tell me the crime?
Or am I losing good character and good judgment,
targeting the one who completes me yet I lament?
Is it true relationships are filled with fights
that last through the morning and are over by nights?
Then why in the darkness do I wish him dead,
to be rid of his attitude and get him out of my head?
Does he feel the same enough to climb through,
up into my window and do what I want to do?
How unhealthy is a bond where murder is the drive,
when we're going headstrong, yet trying to survive?
Should I be worrying constantly, feeling this care,
or is it madness that's taking me there?
Has this finally turned into a weak obsession
where I wake to desert him, but desire his attention?
Does it make any sense to yell and hiss,
burning with anger expressed in a sweet kiss?
Is it time for me to leave and find some clarity,
some thing for which I have no reason to feel guilty?
Could I discover a new beginning and enjoy
without a concern of the one I cherish and would destroy?
Yet as I pack to go, I accept this fate,
my love I cannot part from as much as I hate.