You are a jack of all trades. If we lived together, you can cook, clean and manage better than me. Unlike me, you are witty, and I like your fast reflexes, though you say it gives you headaches. You are superior, and you know it. You know enough to scold me for my mistakes, but you don’t know enough to spare me and let me learn. You influence me, but not enough for me to realize the pain to be you. You are mature, but not enough to be responsible. You are cruel, but not enough for me to heal.
I am the complete opposite. I never shed layers, I am just a clump of something, which you have so commonly shamed me for. In comparison, you really are a jack of all trades, but more like a treasure box, though you scowl when I call you that.