I hate him.
I hate him when he fails to show up on time.
I hate him when he exhibits a casual attitude towards everything.
I hate him because he has so much to say but so less words.
I hate him when he is not able to present something he is so well prepared for.
I hate him when he fails to answer a question because he didn’t raise a hand.
I hate him when he continues to stare endlessly.
I hate him when he worries about something which ceased to exist a long time back, or whose existence is still in doubt.
I hate him when he remains a pauper when he can be the king.
I hate him because he is lost in oblivion when his name should be on everybody’s lips.
I hate him when he fails to say he loves, even when I know he doesn’t care about anything else.

But I love him.
I love him for his innocence, I love him because he is a genius.
I love him because he picks up things, which takes a lifetime for others to understand.
I love him because he cares.
I want to tell him to reach out, conquer the world, to flush the nerves before reaching the stage, to stop worrying about non-existent things.
I want to tell him to rip-open his heart.
But Alas! It’s difficult to come out of the mirror.