Not good enough--not good enough, right? No one's ever going to look up to me if there are people like you around, people who get all the gazes though I swear I deserve them as much.

Let us not talk about ranks because we know they are in fluid motion. That is the problem. Fight, and keep fighting, and never hold the place longer than a minute or so. So what if I advance? You fight to tear me down. This is life to me, life invariable, even though I am the only one who's aware of all the battling going on.

Though I wish we were, we're not ranked by ability but by propensity to be loved. You know how to win. I am too selfish; I do not. You are generous and that is how you are loved. Maybe that's what's wrong with me.

Or maybe I'm only blinding myself to the talent I don't want to admit you have. I want to be greater but maybe I'm not and I'm fighting to delude myself because it keeps me happy to think I am better. Maybe because it's my only pillar of security, knowing I'm the best among my friends. Without it I believe I am nothing. What pleasure does love give that could replace the thrill of superiority? Recognition?

That's honesty. That's a secret I'd normally keep in conversation. Here where I don't know who knows, I think I'm more comfortable with saying.