Wednesday, 9 January 2013

254: You’re Weird

You walk into a room and everyone looks in your direction, half of the occupants in awe of your exquisite good looks, the other half jealous that by comparison they are but daisies to your orchid.  But you never even notice that people stare as you pass by or glance from beneath lowered brows so as not to risk catching your eye.

You move with a fluid grace that would shame the adeptness of any ballerina.  Your head is held as high as a queen’s with poise and elegance surely bred rather than learnt.  And yet you say you feel gawky as a teenager and legs skittering like a new-born foal.

You know you are clever, far cleverer perhaps than anyone else you know, certainly cleverer than all of your peers.  Words and music and science and maths and learning and remembering and thinking and writing and reading all come so naturally to you.  Yet you feel you need to apologize for being able to do all these things so well, as if being like that is a curse instead of a blessing.

You hope to find love one day but you worry you will end up alone.  You wish you had the confidence to ask out someone you really like but believe they’ll turn you down, so you don’t ask.  You have no idea how much someone might really want you to do that, how many nights they might have lain awake wishing and praying that you’d just ask once.

I don’t think you're weird, but sometime the others do.  They don’t understand how someone as beautiful and clever and elegant and able as you can be so shy and so self-deprecating.  I know you aren’t weird because you are beautiful inside as well as outside and you see yourself as no different from anyone else.

To you, the suggestion that you are something special would be weird.  But you are.

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