I know a lot about him like he's my long lost friend.

I know where he grew up like I watched it myself. I know his real name and his reason of changing it. I know how many siblings he has and how much he loves them as if they aren't only half-blood related. I know, like it is engraved deep within my soul, that he was born on Christmas Eve seeming to be the greatest Chrismas present his mum has ever received. I don't know everything, but I know a lot -- maybe even too much.

He doesn't know a thing about me though.

How ironic is it, knowing almost someone's whole life when he doesn't even have a clue about your existence? How sad is it to memorize every little thing about a person but staying a mere stranger to his eye?