I caught sight of you when I least expected it and found that I bore an anger in my heart. It isn't aimed towards you; it reflects inwards, on me, stabbing me with its refined point, driving the feelings home. I was trying to stop my feelings for you, but the anger reminded me that I could not. They're still there, stifling my breathing, roasting my soul above an open fire of self resentment and blacking you out as an impossible hole in the universe.
It's an inevitability that you know that I exist, who I am and what I do, but more importantly, it's an inevitability that you were never going to look at me the way I look at you. I'm drawn you to the way I'm in love with my melancholia; resentfully, but addicted in such a way that I am loathe to give you up.
It would be less painful to drive a literal knife through my heart.