I'm not that stupid you know.

I may not get the best grades. I may not always think things through before I say them.

But do you really think I'm so dumb that I'd keep coming back and annoying you when I know that I'll get hurt? Even a wild animal wouldn't intentionally put itself in danger unless there was a good reason.

Sometimes I wonder if you suspect the truth. You're smart - you have to be, in your profession - so surely you've thought about it.

But I know you haven't. To you, I'm just a dummy. An annoyance. Even if I was smarter, or stronger, you still wouldn't pay any attention to me. No, you'd pay even less attention to me.

Being annoying is the only way to make you look at me. The only way to make you touch me.

I dream about you, you know? About touching you, and you touching me back. Not the way we do now. You hug me. We sleep in each others' arms. You stroke my head and tell me how much you care about me, and how much I mean to you.

You tell me you love me.

Whenever I have those dreams, I wake up with tears in my eyes, and I cry into my pillow forI don't know how long. Sometimes my mom will hear me, and ask me what's wrong. I tell her I just had a bad dream, that it's nothing.

It's happening more often. I think she's been talking to a doctor.

For now though, I'm happy. Really. Just seeing you every day is enough. Well, just getting you to talk to me is.

As long as you keep hitting me, I'm happy. Because you're thinking about me. And maybe... maybe, one day, you'll think of me the same way I think of you. Maybe.

Just... keep getting angry, okay? That's all I need.