I remember calling you absolutely insane for eating ketchup by itself.
I remember building those blanket and pillow forts late at night to hide.
I remember the way you always smelled like sweet cinnamon and powdered sugar.
I remember the way you stomped when you got mad.
But you never got mad, not really.
I don't think you were capable of being mad.
I had never seen you angry or raise your voice.
You were just there.
YOU told me you were okay, that you were fine.
You lied.
You couldn't get angry because you couldn't hate anyone.
You weren't even capable of hating someone or something.
You were far from a people-pleaser, but you never spoke bad about anyone.
It's not like you couldn't see the bad either, you saw it. I know you did.
You were hated from birth.
Lots of people hated you when you were just a child, and you were then incapable of hating because you wanted to be nothing like them!
It then became not a choice, but a necessity. A way of life. It wasn't even just a necessity, lots of things are necessary that no one does. This was engraved into you. This wasn't something you did, but rather who you had become.