I know you don’t like me. I see the dirty looks. I hear the whispers. But you know what? I could care less about what you think about me. In all honestly, it’s you I feel bad for. You’re so pathetic. The only reason you talk to me is to know what’s going on. You just want to have the information of what goes on in my life, but you don’t give a crap about my feelings. You make everything between us a freakin competition. The thing is, you’re horrible at pretending you like me, when it’s written on your face that you have a problem with me. If you have the guts to ask me personal questions about my life, I think you should just admit that you’re not cool with me and get it off your plate. That’s just my opinion though.