This is why my family hates me. I'm cold hearted, a right bastard, as the Brits say.
When I see a person in need, I imagine what someone else would do to help.
I can't imagine what the other person feels. I sympathize but I lack empathy.
Sympathy is patronizing, like handing a couple of bucks to a homeless person.
To effect change takes concerted effort. I may be too disconcerted to care enough.
Even if I could turn back time to figure out what went wrong in my head or heart...
Different people respond differently to circumstances requiring a level of patience.
Not that I could rewire my brain or rewrite my childhood so I could be a good person.
Everyone is different but my family took offense I wasn't more like they were.
Really, I'm not such a bad guy, just eccentric in my detachment from others.
Veritably, I had to move away to not play the scapegoat, a role well-suited to pity.
Even if I could make amends, it's not entirely my fault my character lacks care.
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