Alike and Worlds Apart

I see her every week; her very presence magnetizes my soul, connections that could
        never be described, click into place.     
Depending on our moods, for women are often moody, we talk; sometimes about boys, or
        school, and when we have the time; deep discussions.
I used to think we were so much alike; how we acted, dressed, thought, and just who we
        were as people, friends, girls.
As honest as I am, one day I voiced this aloud to her, hoping she’d agree; finally,
        maybe, hopefully, I’d have found someone to understand me.
She, however, took it differently, as an insult, when I took the compliment; smashing
        my fantasies into tiny glass fragments, spilling my blood-filled tears.
Since then, I have been trying to understand her even more than I had before; but now
        she will not discuss with me anything; not school, not boys, not life.
From this small contact I have come to realize that we are not as alike as I had
        thought; she thinks and interprets life differently.
I, on one hand, enjoy understanding things and people; getting into their worlds,
        connecting, and figuring out why people do the things they do.
She, on the other, enjoys believing that she is different than other people; but does
        not care to find those differences.
All that I feel towards her now is pure frustration; black and simple; because I want
        to understand her, but she will not let me.
I ask questions, to try and get inside her world, but she won’t answer; it would
        shatter her allusion that she is different from everyone else.
She seems content in her fine little world, not to be disrupted over someone else’s
        petty thoughts; if that’s what she thinks of them. How am I to know?
She treats me no different than anyone else, though I do not expect different
        treatment; I have done nothing special, and I understand that; if anything.
Darling, Love, Babe, and other little, belittling, pet names she stills calls me, as
        she calls everyone else in her world.
She doesn’t mean them, however, and while it may not bother anyone else, it bothers me;
        yet I will not say a word, I don’t want what little relationship we have to end.
So I sit in a pensive and somewhat depressive silence; watching, waiting, hoping, for
        the day in which she will be able to finally let me in.