The voices hush as I walk by.

I know what they say about me; unseen, I catch snatches of conversation. Everyone says the same thing. They say I'm crazy. That when Danny broke up with me in front of thousands of people, that my mind snapped. Oh, they mocked me and pitied me when he did it. Now, they take cautious steps back when they see me approach. They mock me still, but not to my face.

Crazy, they call me.

When Danny broke up with me, instantly I was stripped, helpless. An exposed nerve, drowning in sensation. Thousands of eyes watched me that night, but the only pair I loved didn't even want to look on me. Yes, now I understand - I understand that he abused me, used me, cast me aside when I was no longer needed. But at that time, I had endured months of needling comments, occasional sweet moments reinforced by steely indifference. He conditioned me to crave his love and approval. Nurture me, Danny; I yearned.

Little girls dream of falling in love and having their dream wedding, colored in crayon. I was a little girl once. Daniel was everything I thought I wanted - and when you think you've found your dream man, you'd do anything to keep him. In my mania, I thought, If Danny doesn't love me, and he's perfect for me, then how can anyone else love me? Later, I burned all the photos I had of us together. On the back of one photograph, I found that I had scrawled our names, childishly, and draw a big heart around them. That went into the fire, too.

I loved as a child loves: needfully.

Crazy, they call me. And for what? Because I realized how awesome Punk is, and let it be known? He's the idol of millions. It is not crazy to love CM Punk. And still they call me crazy, as though they wouldn't do everything they could to get near him. He is larger than life, bombastic, rebellious; the force of his personality is mind blowing. Being near him is like being the barren moon, bathed in the warmth of the sun.

Still, they turn up their noses at him, and raise their eyebrows at me. 'Really,' said some of my girlfriends. 'This guy? He looks like he smells bad. Greasy hair, garish tattoos. He's white trash.'

Let me tell you, Punk smells wonderful. He has a clean, masculine scent; it makes me think of summer and new t-shirts and amber. And if he's trash, then let me live down with the trash, with his arms around me, while the rest of you stand above us, alone.

Even he calls me crazy, when it comes to Kane.

If Punk put noses in the air, Kane made jaws drop. I remember watching him on television, when I was a girl. My tennis shoes were carelessly untied and my hair done up in pigtails. I laid on my belly and watched him walk through men; he was a force of nature. I remember when he married Lita - she was my favorite. I could never have imagined then, watching him drag her to the altar, that I would one day willingly leap into this man's arms and kiss him.

Passion - red and passion and heat - passion. I didn't think it would be like that. I didn't know it could be like that. At No Way Out, when he laid hands on me, hands big enough to easily span my waist, and kissed me back, I had to wrap my arm around the back of his head to keep me on my feet. My knees trembled. Punk shakes his head at me. 'Kane is the bad guy', he tells me.

I don't know how to tell him that I already had Danny, who was perfect for me, and look how that turned out. Maybe I don't need another 'good guy'. Kane can block out the sun. Kane makes my crayon dreams fade away. I thought I needed sunlight to thrive; maybe I am a night-blooming plant.

They tell me Daniel went crazy after I kissed Kane that first time. They tell me that he wrecked the locker room. Punk thinks that Danny talks too much about me. I'm not over him - maybe part of me will never be - but there is some satisfaction in thinking he is not over me. You threw me away like trash, Daniel. Why are you surprised that someone else is willing to pick me up.

All eyes on me. My lips quirk into a smile. I step out into my spotlight.

Crazy, they call me.