There was a guy who used to know me.

There was a guy who used to know me.

We had told each other a lot of things. Deep things. Important things. Joyful and happy things. Sad and maddening things.

Then we told each other very hurting things.

He thinks I must hate him rabidly and many more people along with him.

Some days and some nights, I think it over and over. Everything seems to go as he had said sometimes.

He is wrong in something, and that is that I don't hate him and I don't hate many people.

He knows me, though. He really knows me. The days and nights that I realise how much he knows me freeze my blood and my heart.

There are times when even predators skip a beat.