“You hate me, don’t you?”
He smiled. “Yes, and a wonderful thing hate is.” His blue eyes met mine. “Few people really, really hate with a passion to say, ‘I hate you. I hate you.’
“You see, most hate with a whim, some slight gestures that put off their ego. Others say they hate simply because they do not love; well, they figure, if I do not love and I am not love, then I must hate- heaven forbid the concepts of unfeeling and indifference.
“Most of them have never experienced living off of hate, feeling nothing except the center of all your anger and fear and rage. Most of them have never not eaten or drank for days, most of them have never sat and logically contemplated their situation and decided they wanted to hate and then hate. Most of them have never been so totally swept away by their emotion that they feel nothing at all, nothing except emptiness that comes with hate.
“Most of them have only hated with a boy’s little self-centered mind; most have had petty hatred and even pettier minds, but a few, oh, so few-!
“-the few that hate so well I love.”
 Attingere · Sun Feb 25, 2007 @ 04:09pm · 0 Comments |
