Miles’ clothes are folded neatly,

mine aren’t.

Miles’ room isn’t messy,

mine is.

Miles’ car is new and improved,

mine has a license plate that still drags against the tailgate of my truck.

Miles’ front seats are designated for nights with girls and fancy drive in movies,

mine are made to drive me to and from places as I wish Miles and I were alike.

Miles and I have many differences.

For one, he’s the hotshot of our school, and you ever leave him alone at a party— he won’t get lost.

For two, he has a girlfriend, a blonde named Emily.

For three, he’s not me.

My hair’s messy,

his isn’t.

My eyes are grey,

his are green.

My eyes are tired,

his are lively.

My hands are cold,

his are warm.

My voice is silent,

his is loud.

My room is messy,

his isn’t.

Miles and I are different.

Very different.

Miles likes girls with blonde hair and short skirts,

I don’t.

Miles has a thing for tight clothes and ponytails on girls,

I don’t.

Miles likes romantic dates with girls,

I don’t.

Miles loves buying roses and chocolates for the blondes he thinks will last for years,

I don’t.

Miles enjoys watching movies and cuddling during them,

with girls.

Miles likes walking the campus of the college,

with girls.

Miles likes girls.

I like Miles.

He doesn’t like me.

Miles and I, we’re different.

And he’ll never really understand why, despite wishing he knew. I could tell him a million things, but there is one he will never quite understand, or be told.

Miles and I will always be different.