There is a fine line between love and hate, a small encounter can make the feelings around us shake. When you say you hate someone, do you really, or is it a fragment of our imagination, begging us to shut off the feelings we have and hide it behind a stone cold door. I used to love them. I used to stay up at night wondering if they would ever come for me, to love me, to care for me or just to be there, to I know I'm not alone. Years past by and still no word, memories of them failing to stay intact, crumbling beneath the scarred fingers of reality and I tried everything to keep it moulded together, but it just, kept ... falling. I felt like a failure. Sometimes I would hear faint voices fogging my mind, telling me, begging me to keep strong and I tried. I tried so hard for these voices because, they felt like home, and I did. I stayed strong , for them because they were the only thing that I could cling to whilst I felt like I was slowly disappearing into nothingness. Sometimes I would remember a time when I was happy, with my family and it was pure bliss but then I remember being taken away from my dream, it was like a ice cold bucket of water had been drenched upon my body and I could never go back, I wanted, no I needed to go back so I could be happy again. The woman, who was supposed to be my aunt, to love me just like family would love each other, killed that innocent child and I hate her for it. But I could never do anything about it because she is family however, it turns out there is a fine line between love and hate after all.
