If there was one thing that you wanted to know about me, the first thing that would come to my mind to tell you is that I don't have anything to say, so don't call me shy.
That's it, period, point-freaking-blank. I'm far from afraid to tell you how I feel. But if I don't know you, my standing on you is indifferent—you haven't produced feels for me.

Then, I'd think that oh god, can't show this person my drawing book or they'll beg me for a picture that I don't have the attention span to orchestrate, and I'd better GTFO and save myself the suffering of any awkward greetings and half-hearted promises to speak again. No, no, no, don't want to talk to you again.