I watch her as she spins.
Spins with her nasty hooks flailing about hoping to snag an unexpected bystander.
I’ve removed myself from her reach. No matter how hard she tries, I do not find myself caught in her angry snare.
I got caught once and that was enough for me. I snipped the cutting tendrils and never looked back.
The scars have healed, but her present day actions remind me she hasn’t changed, she has only gotten worse.
Hate.
She hates you. She hates me. She hates everyone - even herself.
I don’t hate her.
I feel bad for her.
The hate eats away at any happiness she could have.
And that’s sad.
I could have been a great friend for her.
I am not the only person who has left her to her own destruction. Everyone fled once her biting words and awful actions damaged them.
Her self fulfilling prophecy of not having any family when her parents died is slowly coming true.
“You’re not even family” yelled at me made me understand.
I’m not her family.
But I am his, and that’s all that matters to me.
Ps. A situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.
