Spoken words escape me often. I no longer know how to tell of the sun’s vibrancy, nor the moon’s delicacy; I can no longer describe the way the rain sounds against my window, or the silent pit-pat that echoes throughout my room, seeming to desire my company, my love, and my affection. I can no longer explain the serenity that hits me like a tidal wave when I hear a heartbeat for the first time, attempting to match the beat of mine with the steadiness of another. I simply can no longer explain…well, me.

People say I am different, but how would they know if they do not even know me? Pretty, they say. Pretty, and intelligent, and funny, and caring…but what are those things except characteristics followed by an outer eye? Only a fool would be blind enough to say they know someone from characteristics such as those. They say they know me? Ha! I do not even know myself.

But do not think I am not fancied to them, nor attempting to call them a fabricator. Oh no, I would never! Understand that I do not know them either and I seldom fall into the trap of hypocrisy. I must be frank for a moment, however. For all of the things they think they know about me, I cannot help but think of them as a double-edged sword. Why else would they delve into the affairs of my mediocre life? I think these people are scared. I used to be scared, and I suppose I still am in a way, however, I have grown past the immature comfort of concealing myself behind seemingly enviable characteristics of those I find more interesting than myself. Yet these people, the ones who tell me I am different, are still stuck there. I do not know who I am, but I do know what I want, and these people do not. So I am going to help them.

My favorite place to be is the beach, and, for the time being, it is going to be their favorite place as well. When I go to the beach, I find myself creating lives for people I pretend I know instead of focusing on the life I am supposed to know: my own. Due to this unfortunate situation I often find myself grappling for the words to tell strangers when they ask simple questions, such as, “What is your name?” My name? Why I could be Johnny, Susie, Larry, Mary, Carl, Sandy, Scooby Doo, or Spiderman; and the reason for this? Because I do not know who I am. So (excuse my double hypocrisy) the next time these people are at the beach, enjoying their favorite pastime of Guess Their Life, I wish dearly that they do not follow the shaky footsteps I have planted in the sand. I hope they find the importance of stopping for a moment to look at the sea; to look to the horizon and past it, stretching their eyes until the sun scorches them and they can see no more (I am speaking metaphorically, darling, please know that). I trust that they will be able to unearth the person they are suppressing behind the blandness of the lives of others, such as mine. Instead of mumbling that that girl is pretty, I want them to stare at their reflection in the water and speak loudly I am pretty; I am pretty, and intelligent, and funny, and caring. I yearn for every person who has a sliver of doubt within themselves to cut ties with the belief that they know themselves while they speak of others with more confidence. One day, I believe they will be able to mend the severed cord of the will to know themselves.

My, oh my, how I wish someone could have told me that.