Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I think you already knew that ;)

Spoilers: 5x24.

Summary: She's always scared of his love. D/B — post 5x24. Drabble.

Notes: I wrote this at 5am, because I couldn't sleep. Also, my english isn't really good.

After I wrote it, I noticed that I got some inspiration while reading Pablo Neruda's poetry (Tonight I can write the saddest lines): I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too / My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her / I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. And that's the reason behind this title.

Forgetting is so long.

"My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her."

He hates the way she makes him feel.

When he's sleepy and tries to look at his reflection in his bathroom mirror but the only thing he can see is her face painted in his memory, forever in his mind. When he makes coffee and the taste reminds him of her and secret dates where she was oblivious to him falling for her smile (it feels like that happened a thousand lifetimes ago). Or when he reads the newspaper and her name seems to be everywhere but isn't actually there (her name is like her, haunting and ethereal). He hates it.

He hates that it feels like the last time he touched her was years ago, even if only a month has passed.

He hates that he remembers the exact shade of her favorite lipstick or how many times she looks in the mirror trying to be perfect before going out. He hates when all he can see is red lips and sometimes he swears he sees her hair in his pillow. And she's not by his side, but she's there with him all the time.

And he hates that he feels her hands in his neck every time he closes his eyes, the way she kisses him in his dreams and the way he remembers her smell that still lingers on him. He remembers her eyes and how they used to shine like a hundred stars just for him, like she was the happiest girl in the world, like she was in love with him, like she was living the life she always wanted, like she was glad that he was mending her broken heart, like she meant it.

He hates the way he misses her voice, her shoes next to the coffee table and the hydrangeas she liked to bring to the loft.

He hates that he's in Rome with a brunette who isn't Blair and that he can't seem to find the strength to write another word for his new book.

He hates that she didn't say that she loved him. He hates the way he's starting to believe that all the little things she did were lies. He hates the way he loves her and she doesn't love him enough or the way she's always scared of his love.

But most of all he hates the way that losing her is filling him with all this hatred, just because he loves her with all his heart and will love her in all the ways a man can love a woman, all his life, until he goes numb.

He hates the pain, the guilt, the hope, the anger, the despair and the love. He hates that he still feels her intoxicating his lonely soul.