How can I feel this bad on such a beautiful day? The sun is shining and your flowers are soaking up its rays. I have a cup of tea, and I'm seated comfortably on the grass, reading a book. There are faint, wispy clouds overhead, but they don't threaten rain. The day has only just begun, and yet I am this depressed?

It must be because of you. Of course it's because of you. But I can't blame you like that. I'm not able to be mad at you. I love you, desperately, and I can't hate you. As hard as I try, I can't hate you. I wish I could.

I'm watching you now, as you bury the roots of a morning glory into the soil. The sunlight catches in your hair, and you push a strand away from your face before looking up and smiling at me.

Oh, Elbereth. That smile. That damned smile. It makes my cheeks blush and my heart skip a beat. It makes me catch my breath as my eyes glitter, watching it. I wave, dumbfounded. I wish you hadn't smiled because every time you do, I am reminded that my feelings are real. I wish they weren't, but they are. They're very real.

Turning back to your work, you look away, and I lean back up against a tree, closing my eyes and wishing that when they opened, you wouldn't be there. I love you so much; please stop torturing me like this. My eyelids lift, halfway, and I see you again, weaving your spell stronger around my heart.

Why do you pain me so? If I love you, why does it hurt me to look at you or to be touched by you or seen by you? I close my eyes, shutting you out and remembering...

---

We were at the Green Dragon that night. I had asked you to join me for a drink, and Pippin and Merry had come, too. And Rosie. We all sat together, laughing together. It was a lovely time. The ale was good, the night was fine, and I was surrounded by the best hobbits I could wish to know.

Of course, it didn't last. Things like that aren't meant to last. After Pippin and merry left, it was just us, and Rosie. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Rosie had gone up for a dance with a gentlehobbit who had just come to town. We were at the table, alone in a corner. I'm not sure what got to me; if the ale was to blame or if I had simply lost my mind, but I had had you on my mind ever since we stepped in. And I meant to tell you how I felt. Well did I choose a perfect time.

You were fiddling with a splinter sticking up from the table, smiling to yourself and bobbing your head to the music. The fire was casting a glow on you, making you look angelic. I grasped your hand in mine right there. I didn't notice anything else, I was focused on you. I stuttered and spat out words, telling you in choppy sentences how I felt. I ended by saying plainly,

"I love you." I look back at my pitiful attempt and think sarcastically- How romantic. That's not at all what I wanted it to be like, but then, at the moment, I couldn't help myself. You looked me in the eyes and said:

"I love you too, Mr. Frodo. I truly do." I was so happy. I kissed you right there, and you kissed back. Everything was perfect.

But of course, it shattered. You leaned harder into the kiss, aggressively. I was startled. You weren't like this-I knew you weren't. I pulled away and realized why. Your face was flushed, your eyes were unfocused. Your breath smelled of ale, and I could taste it on your lips. You were drunk. You hadn't the slightest idea of what you were doing.

Now that I think back, I almost wish I had ignored it. I could have kissed you again, ignoring your drunkenness. I could have kissed you again, crying and wishing I could ignore your loss of sobriety. I could have pulled you into my embrace; tears unnoticed falling onto your shoulder. But that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted you to be real.

I looked back to you, eyes clouded with dread. Your face had fallen to the table, and you were snoring quietly, sleeping off the alcohol. I ran. I ran as fast as I could out of that place, and all the way down to Bag End, back home. The house was empty, waiting for me. It was often quiet and lonely, ever since Bilbo had left, but the silence this time was unbearable, so I broke it. I cried, and I broke the silence. I could hear my tears drop to the ground. The noise nearly echoed off the walls. I believe I screamed, and that echoed, too.

You came home late that night. I heard you walk in, trying to sneak past me to the room I'd lent to you for the past few weeks. But I'm a light sleeper. I heard you from my armchair by the fire, and you were glad I woke, for you wanted to share with me a story.

You told me what had happened after I left. When you had woken, it was to Rosie's face. She smiled at you, and asked if you were alright. You said yes, then she asked you if you would dance. You said yes again. I didn't want to hear anymore of the time you two spent together, but I didn't want to tell you why. So I listened, politely.

You and Rosie had a dance. Then another. Then another. You said that the night was "magical." You didn't mention me once, as you didn't remember anything. Instead, you told me of how you walked Rosie home, in the moonlight. You described how the way the moonlight hit her hair gave her a heavenly glow. I'm sure it was the same glow I had seen in you earlier, by the fire of the inn. I brushed away my bitter thoughts, but they only returned when you described giving her a goodnight kiss. Your eyes brightened when you mentioned that it had turned out deeper and more passionate than you had expected.

Tears were in my eyes, but I hugged you, and shed them behind your back. I tried to pass them off as tears of happiness, and you believed me. I would never be the same, but you believed me. You always will, and I will always remember.

---

It is months past, now. You are still with Rosie. You see her every day, but you see me too, and I believe that's the only way I can go on.

My head jerks up from my thoughts. Imagine who is coming down the path, into our garden. Rosie. You forget me, and run to her, grasping her in your arms. You share a kiss. A deep and loving kiss. I turn away. The broken pieces of my heart are shattered all over again. It truly is torture. Torture so painful that I can't describe it in words. I fake a smile and greet Rosie. I've become quite good at fake smiles, as they are the only ones I give.

I look at you. Your face is beaming with happiness. Oh, how I hate you. I wish I could grasp you in my arms and kiss you forever, just to show you how much I love you, but I can't. I'm too busy hating you. But I've already been through this. I can't hate you for being happy. I can't hate you at all, for I love you too much.

---

Now my friend, you have heard my story. I pray that you will never have to feel what I do every day, but I know someone will. Be they man or hobbit, dwarf or elf. If there is one thing that you take out of my story, may it be this:

There is a fine line between love and hate, and if you are to fall over the edge, be sure to land on both sides.