The boy called...Let's call him Tony.

There was this time I was sitting outside at camp, a boy from my class joined me on the swing next to me and he looked at me. I asked him what he was looking at. He simply answered that he was looking at my eyes. I asked him why he looked at my eyes. He looked at my eyes like he was surprised by what he saw. He answered saying he could see my past through my eyes. The hurt. The pain. He said I was beautiful and shouldn't believe a worth those motherfuckers said. I looked at him weirdly. He said he could read me like an open book. He said he felt sorry for me and he said he would always be there for me. I didn't believe him. But now, a few years later, he's still here. And we went on camp again. We went to the swings again and he looked at my eyes. I stared back. He said, 'Do. I can see you've had a fucking hard time. I can see how hard your past was. I can see the pain in your eyes. I can see that you're hurt. You don't have to stay strong for me. I understand you. I won't laugh. I'll stay. You can put your mask off now. I can see through your fake smile. And that was the moment I broke down and cried. He held my hand and tried to comfort me. He did. His name was...Let's call him Tony. Tony was the first one, no I have to say this right. The first boy I trusted in nine, almost ten, years. Thank you, Tony, for everything you've done for me.

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