Hiding

I got a text message from a man I barely know telling me that he loved me. Then a swift response (with different syntax) telling me it was the man who took me out on a date but wanted a purely sexual relationship with me. The original comment disappeared in this time and the man whose phone was taken talked to me about how strange the behavior of the other man was.

“He just walked into the room, took my phone, sent the message. I kicked him out. Real weird, and oh, everybody misses you here.”

I had the number of the man for some odd reason so I asked him about it. He said:

“It doesn’t matter because you moved.”
And forty minutes later:
“Do you still have feelings for me?”

I spent the whole day thinking about how I should answer it. I didn’t hate him, even though I was told that because of what he did to me I had to. My friends were surprised at the level of compassion I gave him, given the circumstance and eleven hours later I came up with a response:

“I don’t know what to think about you. But I know for sure, I don’t hate you.”

“Why don’t you hate me? I did everything just so that you could hate me.”

I won’t say I’m incapable of hate, because hatred, in my opinion, is misplaced love and understanding, manifested in frustration and anger. Its a way for somebody to control your whole being.

Plus, somebody so desperate to hope for somebody to hate is trying to hide something, trying to hide from reality.

“In the moment I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat them, then in that very moment, I also love them.” Orson Scott Card

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