A bad-ish review

I hate it when people think they know you. All people can really hope for is to see just a glimpse of one's true self. An attempt to puncture the walls we've erected. These days words like friendship, commitment and love are casually thrown all over the place, their true meaning always alluding us by mere inches. Someone told me that she thought she knew me, but how could she really? How could she be so pretentious to think she knows what I've been through? She believes that just because we played a couple of "I never" games that she thinks she knows someone, well that's just too sad for words. I've known myself for nearly twenty years and even I am discovering new things about me every day. It's hard for me to know where I'm going and if I'm going the right way, but there is one thing I do know: if anybody ought to know me, it really should be me and not some snooty, infantile brat. The things she said to me really struck a nerve somehow, and I'm a little caught of guard by it, after all, she doesn't mean anything to me anymore. But I guess that's just general knowledge: one bad review is enough to cancel out ten great ones. Still, I am me and no matter what she says, her words don't mean anything to me. I know enough about me to know who I am and who I'm not. I can only hope she possesses the same kind of rationality and self-knowledge, but somehow, I highly doubt it. So in the end, the joke's on you, girl.