An Open Letter to an Extrovert

The medicine I'm taking right now tastes like soap. Fifteen minutes straight of inhaling mist that takes like soap.

Dear Extrovert,

Hey! How are you doing? You see, I ask you that because I'm genuinely curious, not just because I'm polite and know how to banter. In fact, I really do like you a lot and think about you regularly. Sometimes, though, I think you misunderstand me.

You see, I'm an introvert. You know this well, and you accept me anyway - for the most part. However, I can't help but think that you have some sort of ulterior motive when you're talking to me. It's almost as if you're trying to convert me. Or cure me. I'm not sure which. As if I have some unspeakable disease that I'm suffering from, slowly dying from.

Allow me to let you in on a secret: I have no disease. There is nothing wrong with me. Frankly, I like how God made me. Introversion is not a disease - it's a piece of who I am.