The lack thereof.

I remember, back when hungry was a permanent feeling, what it was like anytime anyone put food in front of me. Even saltines with peanut butter on them, they felt like a feast. A treat. Gourmet. Delicious. Spam? Like filet mignon to a small, empty stomach.

I think, sometimes it's like that with kindness. I spent a lot of years with a man that liked to be mean. It made the times he was less mean, it made those times seem like kindness. I feel like I've learned to take kindness, real kindness, as more than it's intended, now. I forget that sometimes people are just nice to be nice. It doesn't mean they care, not in any sort of intimate way. A man being nice to me, being kind, it doesn't mean he loves me.

I need to remember that. It's not love, even if it's nice. I ought not be so silly, to think that way.