In the case of Verona vs. Stratford, a dispute of matters of the heart.

"I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick-- it even makes me rhyme. I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh -- even worse when you make me cry. I hate it that you're not around and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you - - not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all." -Kat Stratford

You, Sir, are Patrick Verona in some ways and I hate it. The only difference is that you didn't get paid to be with me and we don't end up together in the end.
I know I didn't make up what happened, you were really there, you really said all those things, you really held me like that, but you made it seem like it was all fabricated-that you didn't want me to get the wrong idea about your feelings. Douchebag. I don't hear from you in months and all the sudden you think it's ok to hug me like that, to do the middle-school-dance-hug? Bullshit. Once again, I don't know what to think...you're not the only reason I'm so conflicted, you just added to it, thanks alot jerk. The saddest part is that I still care. I shouldn't, but I do and I hate you for it, but not really...oh hell. Way to go Hillary, way to be a crybaby, way to over-analyze yet again...damn.