Try to make me, love

People either loved me or hated me. If they loved me, all they saw was a pretty boy's face, and all they heard was what I said. If they hated me, they either hated the pretty boy's face or they heard more than what I said. Nether of which is a good reason to hate. If they saw it my way, that is.

When Anabelle came, she was one who loved. But then she started to hear. But she did not start to hate. She started to pry and try to crack me until she realized I could not be cracked. So she started to try and change me. Try to make me see something as precious. She was good at it, too. My mistake for not turning away the first time she spoke.

My mistake.