You don't have to say anything. Seriously, I'd rather you not. You've said enough.
I tried. I really did. I fought back. I cried. I walked off. I did everything possible, back then at least.
And then I thought I'd be free. But fate left me in at least one class with you. This is the first year we don't share a class. Last year was the first year I'd forgiven you.
Your words hurt, and it was five damn years of you putting me down, saying I was the mean one. I remember your mom took us aside. I said I liked your hair. You said you didn't like anything about me. And I forgave your mom for not pushing you harder. For not telling you to stop.
Because it wasn't just me. It was most everyone else. I just had the courage, the foolhardiness, to stand up for myself. The rest, they just took it.
But not me. Not me, because I didn't like being hurt. Not me, because I wanted everyone to be happy. I fought. I told the teachers. They didn't do anything.
Then I thought I was free. It was like sweet relief - five years of torture, done and over with. But no. It was middle school, and in my last class of the day - bam. There you were.
I tried to avoid you, but collisions were inevitable. We were assigned as partners once. I tried to be nice to you. I'd thought you changed.
Oh, yeah, I always kept trying for you. I never gave up on you. Do you see why I held the grudge? I wasn't perfect. I said words that cut too. But I tried.
The next year we were in another class together. I tried to avoid you, but when dealing with you I was kind. I tried to be, at least, though occasionally I attacked first. Can you really blame me?
Eighth grade now, and you were in two classes. I saw you a lot more, then, unfortunately. I pretty much gave up on you. But the summer before high school basically clouded my mind.
The first day, and I try to be kind and welcoming to you. It's a partner get-to-know-you thing. You don't have one. I gather my courage and approach. You speak in monotone, sounding bored. A friend comes over, and suddenly I'm forgotten. I try to include myself, but you just glare at me and tell me to go away.
But I forgave you. Years of verbal abuse, years of you being rude and mean and awful, and finally I washed it away.
I won't forget. You can't ask me to forget. But I have forgiven. So if you need a shoulder to cry in, don't worry, I'm here. Don't forget the girl you bullied.
I'm still here if you need comfort.