Subtle Differences

I’ve known you for years.

You say we’re soul mates, you and I. You say that we’re spirit twins. Is that really true?

You’re a sweet little thing. Thin and petite. You have mysterious black eyes that prevent others from reading your soul. Your long brown hair fall in curls around your pale skin, hiding the expression you want to hide. Your fingers are thin, light, delicate. They flutter all over the place, as if unsure of where to land. I know that feeling, I sympathize with those fingers. Your wrists are weak. They weren’t meant to be brutal. You can’t throw a punch to save your life. You were meant to draw beautiful things, conveying thoughts into colors, and shaping ideas into elegant lines. Your nose is narrow, and slightly upturned. It’s cunning, proud. You stick your cute little nose in the air and strut around like a queen as your eyes dance with amusement.

Me? I’m the taller, lankier girl who hovers awkwardly in the background. My brown eyes are open for all to read. I don’t hide my feelings. They’re constantly displayed in the depth of my eye, for you to study. My black hair falls in my eyes in an attempt to hide them. I don’t want to be so readable. I don’t want to be so vulnerable. My lips are always twisted in my characteristic frown, my eyebrows colliding over my tiny nose. I’m not tough; it’s just a show I put on for your amusement. My hands are clenched into fists, hidden in the wide pockets of my baggy jeans, ready to jump out and hurt the first person to cross me the wrong way. Sure, sure, I can write pretty things, but that doesn’t mean I have a pretty personality. My nose is shy, unlike yours. It tries to hide, always tilted downwards. It’s not proud, yours is.

You can snake your way into people’s minds subtly. Finding out their deepest secrets by your sweet talk. You say flattery gets you anywhere. It’s true, it does, and it’s a rule you live by. You smile in the right places, nod enthusiastically when you need to. You beam, and exclaim about wonderful things. You utter false compliments to get your way. People trust you easily. They love your clever ways. They love your so-called friendliness.

I scowl in their faces when they try to connect with me. I don’t need to charm them to find out about their lives. All I need is one blunt look in their eyes to read every thought they’ve ever had. People who aren’t you are very easy to read, did you know? The way they twist up their faces into different expressions is very amusing. It’s my favorite book. They say they don’t want to be too open, when they’re always giving hints about their desires to be scandalized. They’re pathetic, don’t you agree?

You’re always the center of attention. It seems effortless. You enter the room and all eyes are on you. All the words are either directed at you or are about you. The way you glide gracefully charms them. The way you smile charmingly stuns them. They want you as their confidant.

I stumble in after you, clumsy as always. Ignored, unworthy of everyone’s attention. Yes, they talk to you, and compliment your hair. Phonies, fakes, all of them. I stand at the back and watch them with observant eyes, noting their every move, studying their every expression, learning every tone they speak in. I’m more observant then you are, I can read people easily. I don’t even have to talk to them. I don’t have to creep myself into their minds the way you do. I don’t need to be in the center of attention to know their secrets. I don’t need hoards of friends to be everyone’s confidant, because that’s what I am. They tell me their secrets without even realizing it. Their eyes talk to me about their fears and failures, while their lips are sealed. You don’t need to use those luscious lips of yours, darling, for me to know what you want me to know. You don’t need to form those thoughts into words, darling, for me to hear them. I can hear your soul speaking. I can see everything you hide.

They scorn me. They love you. They’re so sadly mistaken, each and every one of them. They think you help them. Ha! What a joke! Isn’t this deeply ironic?

I’m not bad. I’m just quiet. I don’t want to hurt them; I just don’t care enough to want such a vile thing.

I maybe the awkward, clumsy, quiet person who sits at the back of the room and avoid the stares of others, but I have more redeeming qualities than you ever will, sweetie. I’m not saying this to be bigheaded; it’s the simple truth.

You thrive on the attention. The secrets spoken in hushed whispers thrill you. You love having their eyes on you. You love being complimented. You’re subtle in your ways, yes. But the gleam in your eyes is enough to tell me the truth. You don’t do that out of the goodness of your heart. You don’t help them for the sake of helping them. You do that for the compliments and cries of love and countless kisses.

Your genteel, delicate exterior reminds others of long-forgotten fairies. They believe you to be one of those mystical creatures. They love your grace and rhythm. They don’t know what’s hidden under that seemingly vulnerable shell, I do.

My every move and expression speak of what’s hidden in my soul. I don’t try to pretend. I’m not phony. My stiff movements speak more loudly than your dulcet tones. My glare intimidates more easily than you dirty words. My messy hair is truer and more pure than your long fake curls. I’m honest, you’re a lie.

Do you still think we’re soul mates, sweetie? I know we’re not. You should know that too.