Awkward Silences

Some people seem to overflow, with an exuberance that never offends or irritates. They seem blessed with the ability to unabashedly do as they desire. To be affable without anxiety. In such situations I often feel hollow in comparison. Meek, dull. An insidious kind of jealousy forms deep within me, snide remarks dance on my tongue never spoken aloud about their audacity to never cease regaling others with their escapades. To sing songs, narrate long-winded tales without fear that their audience will tire or bore. I seem silent in comparison, devoid of personality or unique thought. Again and again, I watch as people I have hoped to befriend instantly are captivated by the luminous warmth they exude. All the more difficult for me to abhor these people, as I have no reason. These people seem to have no flaws, no fears, and no foes. Who could hate such purity? If only I spoke more, but my mind goes blank practically numb. I have no witty remarks to add, no jokes or jests. I am forgettable, and what’s worse I am self aware. I feel myself fading into the background, into oblivion. Those people seem to have their own immense gravity that pulls others into their orbit, radiant suns. While I struggle they thrive. While I gather up the courage, the vulnerability to make a single comment, right as I lean in to speak a word, this person redirects the conversation and others' eager eyes shift to gaze upon the new brilliance that flows from their lips. I feel like I have no humor, no brain. I merely laugh and nod, laugh and nod. Disappearing by my own volition. My tongue hungering to feast on the saccharine smiles of those around me. A faltering moment and my lips hesitate to utter a word. Suddenly their eyes lose that quality of reverence, and piercing past my skin see within: my unease, the quaking of my bones, the uncertainty of the tones exiting my regretful mouth. My skin darkens like flesh exposed to the elements, pasty, white skin on the beach on a sweltering summer day, my ruddy cheeks cautioning that I am not suited to this ritual, of standing in circles sneakers pressed together, ping-ponging thoughts off one another with heightening speed, my paddle mis-striking and hitting that net.