Why do we hate?
Where did that useless emotion come from?
And why does it seem to be all around us? Propelled by people with notions about right and wrong. By people who take it upon themselves to determine the value and the worthiness of others, the goodness or evil of their actions.
What a futile thing.
It goes hand in hand with anger, with jealousy, with sadness—the culmination of all our weaknesses—often found wrapped in a false layer of pride and righteousness.
Shouldn’t it go against all of our instincts to hate? When we all need human companionship in the same way that we need food—to survive, to keep us sane, to give us a life worth living.
Is it just bred in us? A dark and sadistic part of our nature, up for us to overcome?
Maybe hate itself isn’t real.
Maybe it’s just a word we’ve made up to empower our sadness and our insecurities, to disguise them as something other than they are.
Maybe we shouldn’t even call it hate—maybe we should just call it fear.