What is she made of?

I wonder what she thinks, what haunts her at night, and what makes her do awful things to people around her.

I tried to understand her, I thought I did, but I never got through her. I wasn’t the only one who felt her wrath, there were many of us. And none even had the guts to sell her out.

Whatever makes her like that, I hope she changes. I hope she realizes that people around her are not  like ‘things’ to abandon. I had so much of the hate of hating myself. For making me always feel incompetent and an idiot. If only I could write a letter to her dated ten years from now, maybe she could understand what it felt like for me.


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