Since I'm so attached to people sometimes...

Once upon a time in Freshman year, I had this class where there was this boy. He was two grades higher than most of the people in the class, and almost nobody liked him. He picked on people, he managed to get some people in trouble with his persistent chatting...even the teacher would roll her eyes and sigh because of him.
I can't very well remember what happened, really. I just know that I did what I usually do and tried to be friendly...and somehow we started this silly practice that was just between the two of us.
You see, I had these special "notes" that my sister bought for me once on my birthday titled "Pep Talk" which is really just a joke...you fill in "To" "From" "Date", and "Why you need it today"...and then there are these funny check boxes that say "You can do it!", "I'm proud of you!" "Nobody's perfect.",  "You're my hero." and more. Afterwards, there's another fill-in that says, "And furthermore" followed by check box array with the heading "And if that didn't work". The choices go "Eat ice cream", "Take to your bed", "Hug it out", and a couple more.
I think he started it. Of course he stole my things, being the kind of person he was, and I suppose I found them and decided to fill one out, and he gave it to me. And so during that class we'd just use these notes and fill them out and give them to each other.
I'm trying to think...I believe he was the one who fascinated me with paper planes. I think that he made one out of one of his notes, and I was amazed, and he laughed and of course said something like, "You don't know how to make one?" I don't remember if he showed me how, or if I tried to figure it out myself later in the day...but I think it was him who made me become delighted with making them and eventually flying them all the time.
Eventually it got to the point in which he actually told me more about himself. He told me about how he had to keep moving all the time and when I asked, he told me he actually doesn't like it that much. He told me about how he wanted to be a history teacher, and teach little kids, because he's good with them. There was one day when I mentioned that my twin sister was better at a lot of things than me, and he ended up giving me a doubtful answer. I wish I could remember now his exact words so my story can have more verisimilitude, but he did tell me something like, "Well, for one. You're a lot easier to get along with. You're nice." And I promise I'm not saying this to tell anyone that I'm "better" than my sister (My sister is actually really easy to get along with and also pretty nice!), but the point is I was stunned because I didn't know that he would say something nice to me like that.

I don't know why I meet people like him all the time. But the fact of the matter is, they're not "like" one another either. It's just that, I always meet the outcast. They're never totally alone, but they're usually rejected by a lot of people because of something such as the way they look like, the way they are, or the way they treat one another. Once there was a boy with a skin condition and his eyes were always sad. Once there was a boy who was so persistent with everybody and liked to smile but people didn't always smile for him too. Once there was a boy who couldn't overcome his "friends" and always said "okay" to whatever they dragged him to do because he was so shy. There were so many--and their stories were all different. Sometimes people just didn't even try to get to know them, or sometimes people had bad pasts with them and didn't figure that they could change, or sometimes there were rumors. But sometimes that person would be the cause of his loneliness, too. Much like this person in my story, there are those that pick on others and disrupt the class with their rebellious attitudes, and maybe sometimes they even hurt people.
All the boys in my aforementioned paragraph (and many more with the same loneliness they had to face) eventually did become part of my life. When I came to realize who they were and how rejected they seemed to be, I approached them. I tried to be their friend, sometimes I was so straightforward (at that time I rarely had boundaries) as to tell them something like "Do you want to sit with me?", or "Hello! My name is...", (as I enthusiastically held my hand out for the confused individual to shake) or even (and here's one I look back on and find ridiculous) "I don't think you need to be that way to be 'cool.' You know, there's this quote that I learned once: 'Always be a first rate version of yourself, and not a second-rate version of someone else. What does that mean to you?" And I know that it's probably really silly or strange to you that I am this way, but my determination to help them feel less lonely eventually resulted in them opening up to me, and they told me things that I felt so special knowing, because they didn't usually talk this way to other people. In some few instances, I became a close friend to them, and before I knew it they came to me with their problems. Anyhow, other times it didn't become like that, but there was still that moment of "opening up" which would always capture my heart in some way, as I realized that everyone is full of stories and feelings that we often neglect to consider.
I sometimes wonder why this situation has always happened to me. Why have I come across so many people like this and let myself be part of their story? And probably, more than I to them, let them become part of my story?
And back to this particular person. I want to find those notes. My memory feels so awful, I don't know what I did and where I put those notes. I don't remember the rest of the story between me and him. All I remember is that the last interaction we had with each other ever was when he stole something of mine again as a joke, and left. And I was mad, so I eventually just walked up to him, grabbed it sternly, and walked away.
I really regret that that had to be the last thing. I feel like that one thing, the fact that it was the last thing, canceled out everything good between us. So I want to find those notes, and try to remember the story before that, and try to see if I can justify myself or comfort myself somehow so I don't feel so bad.

And I know that I'm just me, and the way that I think and connect with people is so immensely different from the way people actually connect with me...and that this person--maybe all those people--hardly find my involvement in their life significant. Maybe it was easy to forget, while all the while I still think about all of them and hope that I was able to help or heal them, even if just a little bit, and I still worry if they're feeling lonely or misunderstood, and I still hope that more people like them now and are caring for them, because I really truly want them to be cared for.
And as I asked myself earlier: "Why do I let them become part of my story?"
Why do I emotionally connect myself with people all the time like this? It's really hard to explain myself to people, why I am this way. Was I in love with them or something? I know I wasn't.
I have this strangely immense love for all humankind, which makes me want to always make sure everybody is happy. And I want to believe it's a blessing, but I also see how much of a curse it can be, when it makes me care a lot about people and who they are, and then it's difficult for me to step back and realize that it's more of an esoteric feeling which people will easily move on from in their lives. I feel like small things are such big things, so I feel like people will remember when really it's so easy to forget. I have to stop thinking that I can change people and save people, because I know in my heart--and I want you to know this too--that you can never help someone just by yourself. I've learned to accept that people have to choose for themselves if they will let their lives get better. And so all those things that I did for the downtrodden in the past--I have to stop myself from thinking that that was all that there is. They went through with their lives, hung out with friends, got hurt again, felt happy eventually, traveled to places, studied for tests. What do you think are the chances that through all those things, they thought of that small little portion in their lives where there was a girl who said hello once and cared about them and they eventually told her what they felt like and who they really were? They'll speak to others about themselves too one day, just as all people do. Maybe I shouldn't think about them anymore.