Says the Introvert:

I need you to want me—

to invite me,

just so I can say,

“I’m staying in tonight.”

Instead, I want you to come over

to my cozy abode—

wine in hand,

ready for some soul chat.

Enter the Extroverted companion:

There you are,

sitting across from me

staring right into my eyes,

noticing every nuanced move I make.

And it doesn’t make me nervous

(although it used to)—

Because I savor you,

my deep,

observant companion.

I savor that—

you care.

You want to really know

how I am.

You listen

as I talk,

and suddenly I feel

I’m talking so much

And you are—

absorbing me,

like a sponge.

Suddenly. I stop

and wonder

how you are.

How are you, my friend?

I say, embarrassed

by my chattiness.

You smile,

your eyes getting wide.

They glisten,

your eyes.

And you say:

“Don’t stop,

I’m enjoying your story.

You’re not done.

Please finish.”

My extroverted self smirks.

“You’re a gem!” I say,

with a slight hint of guilt—

“A rare bird.”

And my eyes meet yours

and they think,

Why are so few people like you, my friend?

And your eyes answer:

We are everywhere—

You just pass us by,

because we’re so quiet.

You turn away from us,

because we’re so present

And that presence intimidates you.

You ignore us,

Because you’re not willing to look deep,

to see that we’re anything

but boring.

We both take a sip of our full-bodied wine—

savoring the tastes

we have learned to savor.

That’s it! I think.

Maybe I was never taught

to savor

a fine-wine friend like you.

I take another sip

and notice the velvety tannins.

My heart smiles as I meet your gaze.

We’ve spoken no words

for many moments.

The stillness feels comfortable,

intimate.

You taught me

to love

the quiet,

shared space

between

two humans.

I wish I were you,

my introverted friend.

Sometimes, I wish I were you.

~

~

~

Author: Sarah Theresa
Image: Flickr/freestocks.org
Editor: Travis May
Copy Editor: Catherine Monkman