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She

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She is the girl you talk to and who gives you short answers. She looks right at you and can smile all the time but doesn’t say a word. When she does talk, she talks about the schoolwork at hand because she cares, and because even if she does want to talk to you, she can’t because she has to get this done before she socializes. She does care, though. She cares too much. She hates all of the group activities because she doesn’t know what to do. She has all these thoughts that she can’t share, all these feelings she wishes she could write out because she’s not that good with words. Paper is her safety. Paper has an eraser, paper has lines, directions, but the freedom to still write whatever she wants. Paper is her home. The swing of the pencil is a soothing feeling, one similar to running. She tries so hard to be socially normal, she tries and tries and tries. She pushes herself to say things she knows she shouldn’t just because she needs to be able to talk. She never knows what to say. She watches movies, sees all these witty people. She can’t help but want to bethose people. But she is not. She sees other people, brighter than her, who can freely and calmly, smoothly deliver a joke like it was a line in a play that they had taken years memorizing. Speeches are her worst nightmare. She loves people. She really does. She just doesn’t know how to socialize. Of course she can speak well to her family, because family is, well, family. They are comfort. They have been there since her first year and they are such loving and easy-going people that she can speak so well, like nothing ever blocked her. But in front of others, no matter who it is or how long she’s known them or how often she sees them or what she wishes she could do, when she tries to speak she can’t think of anything.

The End
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Author guidance for This story

abb3yr0ad I wrote this as a response to how I feel about my own social problems. I feel so hard on myself because I'm a girl of little spoken words, except when someone really needs them, and of many written words, except when I'm feeling not creative. Which is 60% of the time. And I wrote about how it sucks, and how hard it is for me to make friends.

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