In October of 2010, having returned to Kilkenny from Cork in September, I saw a teen lad who had harrassed me for two years, behind my back, with the filthiest most hateful language I've ever heard and encouraged others to do the same.
It hadn't been until I'd lived in Cork, free of harrassment, that I realized how much I hate him, in particular.
When I saw him, sitting on the low windowsill of a shop between two friends, I cursed him as I passed, calling him a "scumbag." He acted like he didn't hear what I'd said, so I turned back to speak to him.
I told him that I was never going to forgive him for what he did to me. He acted like he didn't know what I was talking about. You harrassed me for two years, behind my back.
I told him he was a vicious coward. One of his friends balked at that description, as if it didn't make sense.
I told him again that I was never going to forgive him. And I meant that. And I believe it.
I walked away, and he said something behind my back.
Afterward, when I saw him in public, I didn't feel the need to say anything to him I just glared, hatefully.