I’m proud of who I am. I don’t need you telling me about my past and how awkward things were back then. They make me what I am now and the things that I’m into. I’m still into anime, I was always into photography (I was just too shy to share it with anyone), and I really hated you at first. God, I still hate you. I hate the way you wave at me, I hate the way you always told me “nice book” without actually looking at it. I even hated your hugs. Smelly as hell. Every time you bring all this up, it just brings back old memories of how I just didn’t want you to defend me. But you did. You always kept the bullies away from me; you made sure I got to class safely. I always wondered why you never asked me out. I would’ve said “no”, obviously, but can you at least give a woman you defend a chance? At least it would show me some more confidence than “I’m just going to have a casual conversation with some geek girl who I have nothing in common with” except being different from everyone else. I kept talking with you because I felt sorry for you, looking like you knew the whole school but really all you did was go to the counselor’s office every week. I knew. I saw you. Sometimes crying. You never saw me, but the only reason why I have empathy for you is because I passed by that door every single day. I’m pretty sure I was the only one who ever looked. I learned to hate you less. You confuse me, honestly. I think that’s why I hate you, now. Because I have no idea how I actually feel about you.