“I’m starting to hate him,” I said to my mom.
“Hate is good,” she said. “At least your starting to see him for what he is, and not what you think he is, at least your starting to know what you deserve, and not the little crumbs that he’s been giving you for far too long, at least when you look at him, you’re not looking at him with this rose colored spectacles anymore, instead, you’re seeing him eye to eye, wide-eyed, and in black and white panoramic view. Honey, this are the few times hate is good. But don’t stay too long hating him, because that means he’s still got a hold on you. Indifference. Indifference is better.”
//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #24
A.N. okay, there’s no way my mom has said this. I’m the best ever liar in paper (not-so in person), so don’t ever (even for a single second) believe anything I’ve written in this blog, even if you think you know me. This goes for my past posts, really. 😁 I write sad, sad stories. Some are disturbing. Some I plucked straight out of my life and others are pure imagination. I weave truth and fiction into one, and you wouldn’t know which is which, so don’t wonder anymore. But for the curious and wondering minds, this post has 65% truth.