"You're a vicious coward."

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.