Me

I don’t like hating people. Here’s the thing, I generally don’t hate. But, when I do, it feels like my motive is absolutely right. And, that is something I have to deal with in a way I don’t understand.

Says a note signed “Me” on the canteen’s refrigerator.

This person mostly loves someone who is good to be ignored, if not hated. At college canteen, such notes are rare to find. The person writing them usually makes sure we know who wrote it and why.

That’s precisely why people stopped taking them seriously. Much like Facebook, but in real. I look around, eating my pie, and there she is, crying alone with her burger.

I don’t know why, but it felt like she was the one who wrote it. I did not want to judge a personality so real that she is crying in the crowd.

I walk up to her. Offer the remaining of what’s left on my plate. She does not respond. Gets up and walks away. Maybe she thinks I am the one who judged her for being real.

But, it’s not me.

Published by

Shreyas

Imagination has a boundary. And, I can't imagine it.

2 thoughts on “Me

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