Nemesis

I feel sick to my stomach. I didn't do anything. Notice, that's not "I didn't do anything wrong" or "I only did what was best." I didn't do anything. And I am hated. Is there ever a way to prove my innocence? No, and I don't care. I'll take hated. It's better than hurting. It's better than unloved. I was feeling pretty good with everything until this morning. I had forgotten about those emails. My phone doesn't get pictures, you see. So when I opened those emails the memories came rushing back at me like a freight train. The memories - shit - the memories. Mostly images. And words without voices. I cannot recall what the voices sounded like, but I could tell you exactly what they said. I hate the voices, the voices only hurt. I remember the "good" times. I remember the bad times. I think, and as I remember, my bias melts away, and I'm wondering what the fuck I was doing for almost a year. I don't know. I would be lying if I said I didn't miss it, but I sure as fuck am glad I don't have to put up with it.

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.