I remember the first time I met you on the train to Vienna. I loved your smile, your hair, the way you sit, the way you talk. I loved every conversations that we had. Every topic was terrific and fresh.
I remember the first time we kissed. I loved the way your lips hurt mine. I loved the way your hands held mine. The way you walked so fast that I have to run to catch you up. I used to love every little thing you did.
I loved the first time we met again after 9 years of no contact. I loved that you’ve written a book about me. I loved that I’m in a book that you wrote. I loved to sing to you, and loved your expression when you were listening to the song that I wrote about you. I loved it when I was so free to do anything in front of you.
But I’ve come to the conclusion that I love myself more than everything. I missed the time when I don’t love anything. I missed the time when I don’t have you. I missed the time when I don’t hate you. I missed everything that I could have done without you by my side.
And It has finally come to the time when I hate every single thing that you do. Your laughter, you bullshit, your book, your crooked smile. I hate the way you touch me. I hate the way you look at me. I hate it when you keep talking about things that I’m not interested in at all. I hate the fact that I need to see you everyday. This is the end. I hate you.
The letter above is what I think Celine should have written at the end of Before Midnight (2013).