Fall I

It doesn't take much for you to become something else. You look back later, and you say, not that you won't become that person again, but that you hated that person that you became.

I am your conscience; essentially. I am an acknowledged passing-acquaintance to whom you turn a blind eye between classes, which is why you recently changed routes.

Maybe it's pretentious to think that I know who you are, but you seem to confirm the idea.

Maybe it's selfish to think that what you do affects me.