They say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover”
So you decide to try and read
You might  discover that you have a lot more in common than you thought
Or you might find that there is nothing more that interests you about her than her cover and back page synopsis
But you keep reading
You will read her and translate her crooked, trying smile as a fabricated facade
You will read about where she has been and who raised her and how she won this and failed that
You will read carefully how softly her voice mutters when she speaks
yet amplifies when she sings out her heart
You will translate her actions and words into reasons to create hostility
You will discover that she is a walking paradox
And then you decide that you’ve acquired enough to create your own judgement
But you don’t realize
That every individual  is written in his or her own exclusive language
And she was written like Chinese characters against your ancient Latin
A language you cannot ever really truly understand
There is no dictionary to decode the darkness or the distinct dance in the delivery of her words
But instead, you use your own interpretation to make sense of her peculiarity
Instead you label and define as if it were as simple as typing in words into Google translate and clicking the translate button
You will not realize that her silence is her loudest cry for help
No, you will not understand
You will not even try to
Because you, too, have yet to discover how to translate shadows into smiles.


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