I have always regretted my unkindness to you.
The way I laughed about your laborious reading.
The way I pretended not to hear you when you spoke to me.
The way I made fun of your sallow complexion.
I was so unkind it makes me sick.
You never deserved any of it. You were a quiet and serious soul. You were peaceful, and the gravity in your eyes betrayed a wisdom too old for your age. I always laughed at your jokes. You tried to be a friend to me.
Oh, hypocrite that I am, I so admired you.
You had a smooth voice, an innate magnetism that I did not understand. What a school girl's crush I had on you! And how I punished you for it.
We were neighbors, yet I never went to your house. Did you ever ask me to come and play? I do not remember, I always hid when you came. I wouldn't even speak to your mother, who tutored me sometimes in math, for fear that somehow the secrets of my unkindness and of my affection would come slipping out.
My only relief is that this happened ages ago in the third grade. I hope that you have forgiven me or forgotten me.
Yet, still I mourn the possible friendship that I so hatefully destroyed. I ought to have treated you like the boy I loved.