On second thought.
You can hate me. I hate me sometimes, too.
You need to understand that we are blameless. Certainly, we asked for it. Sought it out. But was it our fault we found it?
We are blameless. You cannot find fault with the sun because it rises, nor the moon. I would just as soon be angry with the ocean, for its incessant pounding, the leaves for falling, the wind from blowing.
The ink washed off, down the drain. It's not the water's fault that it flowed.