throw up our sorrows and still not see a difference.

Today a girl I don't really know told me that I have a perfect body, and that every girl is jealous of me for it.
Thigh gap, small waist, round face, and I couldn't lose or gain any weight to save my life.
But I don't want that, I don't appreciate it, this body looks as ugly on me as bright-candy-pink lipstick does on an eight year old.
And she said she didn't understand, how I could possibly not care.

Well, I know she doesn't understand, and she said I couldn't, because if I did then I'd care about those things too. But that's not what I mean.
As much as she doesn't understand me, I won't understand her. These things to her seem so trivial to me, because the number on the noose she ties around her waist matters as much as the number of inches the grass in the backyard grows. It's trivial. Insignificant.
How could she possibly care?

She said then that there's something to be envied in how I don't care, how I don't have these insecurities. But not having those specific insecurities doesn't mean I don't have any.
Hard to care about my weight when I'm terrified my stride will tell someone I'm something else in a human body. Hard to care about makeup when I disappear in the shadows of the room.
Hard to worry about human, teenage girl trends when I'm worrying enough that I come off as inhumane.

So she can tell me how she doesn't understand how I couldn't care, but all I can see is that I missed my chance to be like anyone around me. I'll always be the one who won't fit in. Not because I don't have the right shoes or am wearing the right colours, but because the fundamental things that they all have in common, I'm completely missing.
There's a gap there. A gap that widens with each day that passes as I grow distant from my peers. How I no longer understand any of their mentality.
She'd act like it's normal to walk the way she does, how facial expressions don't matter as much as the makeup that decorates them.
Because she will find my goals as insignificant and alien as I find hers. I'll justify my goals, she'll justify her own. In the process, we're both killing ourselves, and don't understand each other enough to reach out across the gap.
In the end, it won't make a difference. You'll still be a human trying to be a proper girl, and I'll still be an animal trying to be a proper human.

But neither of us are going to turn back, are we?