My best friends have always been strangers.
People I’ve met in passing… on the street, in the Airport, on a bus… it hasn’t really mattered where, but Mistress Eiren tells me that I seem genuinely happy when I meet someone new, that I have a way of talking to strangers captivates them. She tells me that I’m tall and attractive, I’m attentive and understanding, soft when it’s needed and loud when it’s funny, and that I’m oh so innocent and engulfed by their story’s… and, bless her heart, that my eyes sparkle like sapphires, and that people can’t stand but to stare into them.
I don’t know about any of that, all I really want to know when I start talking is who they are, what they’re doing, where they’re going, where they’ve been… I want to know them, and my smile is always sincere. If I meet you in the terminal, and I don’t know who you are… I’m happy to see you and know everything about you.
That is, until I know you… then, as a twitter friend put it, I feel as if my very presence is cruelly imposing on your life… I’m not worth being your friend, and my opinion doesn’t matter. I talk quick and low, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m nervous, sweaty, and full of doubt. My doubt, your doubt, everyones doubt… it doesn’t matter who’s it belongs to, because I’m now the proprietor of it all. I’m aware of just how awkward I am, how the way I move is strange and how I sound so weird… I know that it would be better for me to just stay quiet and still and out of the way, because I know that I won’t be accepted for who I am. I know that I’m off, and I know that I’m scared, and timid, and I just want to run away.
I’m more frightened of my friends than I am of strangers… and it hurts.
It hurts to be scared and nervous to get close to someone.