The Chain
Hatred is a strange kind of love.
Not the beautiful kind.
Not the kind that holds your hand or wants to see you happy.
But the kind that still needs you.
Still searches for you.
Still says your name when you are nowhere in the room.
They say they hate you.
Say they don't care.
Say they have moved on.
And then they look for you.
Just one little look.
One photograph.
One story.
One glimpse into a life they swear means nothing to them.
And there you are.
Smiling.
Living.
Existing without their permission.
So they look closer.
They zoom in.
Search the corners.
Look for something ugly, something embarrassing, something they can carry back and place in front of somebody else.
Look at her.
Did you see this?
Have you seen what she's doing now?
And somebody laughs.
That first cruel word clinks against the floor.
A tiny piece of metal.
Almost nothing.
It feels good.
So another follows.
Clink.
Then another.
Clink.
Until one day they look down and realise every ugly word has become another link.
They thought they were building a chain for you.
They weren't.
They were fastening it around themselves.
Because hatred needs feeding.
It needs another photograph.
Another rumour.
Another mistake.
Another reason to keep saying your name.
And that is the saddest part.
While they were watching you,
you were living.
While they were talking about you,
you were laughing somewhere they weren't invited.
While they were waiting for your life to fall apart,
you were waking up and carrying on.
And every time you did,
they pulled the chain a little tighter.
They called it hatred.
But hatred that watches this closely starts to look a lot like obsession.
Imagine spending your one life watching somebody else live theirs.
Imagine giving someone you despise that much of your time.
Your thoughts.
Your conversations.
Your attention.
Imagine saying,
I cannot stand her,
and then searching for her face.
Again.
And again.
And again.
So let them watch.
Let them whisper.
Let them zoom in until the picture blurs.
Let them pass your name around rooms you no longer enter.
You don't have to defend yourself from every mouth that speaks about you.
You don't have to reach backwards just because somebody behind you refuses to let go.
Keep walking.
Because eventually the distance becomes enormous.
And somewhere far behind you,
there they will be.
Still talking.
Still watching.
Still pulling at a chain they thought belonged to you.
And you?
You were never wearing it.