As much as I want to hate her I can’t.
For someone in the world loves her, and who am I to undermine their love? Who am I to question it? Something so pure, my very opposition taints it.
Who am I to form opinions as strong as hate based upon something as whimsy as my own emotions? Something as temporary as fleeting thoughts and feelings, an explosion of devastating consequences, the provoking act over in but a moment.
Who am I to pity myself? To judge you so harshly for my own flaws. To see you not as you but through the filter of my own ego.