I fixate.
Mostly, as a self loathing (or was it loving?) person, on myself.
When it’s not me it’s you, stranger.
Guy who smiles at me.
Girl who stares.
Adult who makes me feel like a kid, and kid who makes me feel like an adult.
I see you, seeing me, and I fixate on you until I can satisfyingly conclude that you either  
1. Don’t give a **** about me
or
2. Thought about me for a moment.

While I immediately want to know what you think of me, if you think of me, I remind myself that I am much more interested in knowing how long you carry me in your mind.
I, who fixates, will think of you often. I will think of you long and hard and I will stop when I find another whose face is fresh in my mind, while yours has faded like the blue in my favorite jeans.
I, who fixates, wonder how long it takes for me to fade in the mind of you, who doesn’t.