I don’t hate you. I don’t even understand what that word means.
There are things I don’t like, like Spinach. I’d rather have an ice cream or a lolly pop.
Hate is a concept made by grown ups, not by children like me.
I only see the good in people.
Why should I hate you? I don’t even know you.
Yet you hate me and you don’t know me either.
Your hate for me is so strong that your desire is to kill me.
Granting me one more sunrise is too much for you to bear. why?
I don’t hate you, but you hate me.
I am Gideon Prager born 4 June 1942 in the Hague. Murdered 6 March 1944, in Auschwitz.
Reblogged this on History of Sorts.