you may think that an introvert is fragile by nature; that one more word spoken at a high volume may be our breaking point (yes, that’s true – but its less like a twig snapping and more like waves crashing upon the shore)
our voices are small but our hearts are heavy. we are the vessels of forgotten lyrics and poetry left behind. we are the kings and queens of wit and sarcasm – a clever remark hiding under a thick sweater or a book pressed against a breastbone.
come to us with meaningless conversation and we will reply with a question that you wont be able to answer. we have a thousand eclectic hobbies and don’t have time to talk unless you want to help us better ourselves.
introversion is akin to knowing the storm inside us like a worn away t-shirt. its the lifestyle that encompasses settling for nothing less than kindred spirits and our most beloved stories.
its falling in love with people that live in a different world, your best friends are characters from a favorite childhood book. your fondest memories are of cracking fires and solitude.
you can find us in the bare tree limbs that hold up families of crows in the winter months; you can find us in epitaphs and on the bottoms of coffee-stained mugs
we are frequent hosts of one-man dance parties and masquerade balls held in silence. we are the 3 am writers, the moments between sunset and darkness.
subtly is an art and we have mastered it. an introvert is a snow flurry, the moments before the first breath of autumn, an opened window in the middle of spring.
an introvert is the book shelf in a coffee shop, the corner of an antique store that is rarely visited but dearly loved. you underestimate the power that runs under our skin; we have electricity in our fingertips and rivers in our bones.
an introvert will love you so hard that it leaves bruises in your soul. an introvert is the means to an end, the princess who doesn’t need saving and the knight who doesn’t need an order from the king.