Jesse's never really known suffering, not like Rachel has. He's never had the sting of his peers words bite so harshly he can feel them even when he's alone. He doesn't know how thick the air can seem when "that" bad word is spray painted on the side of your house or the pain in his chest when he see's daddy crying as he tries to scrub it off before you leave for school. No, Jesse doesn't know suffering not like the tears in Rachel's eyes have.
Rachel doesn't know pressure, not like Jesse does. She doesn't know the shame of being publicly berated for getting a C on an Algebra test because you were training so hard to be lead for Vocal Adrenaline you forgot to study. No freshman had ever been lead before and he "damn well better keep his spot". Nor does the know the paranoia that comes with being a St. James child, because being a St. James meant being the best; to excel, to succeed, to conquer. And if they didn't, they were forgotten, disowned, did away with like the brother he hasn't seen it years and the sister who can't stand the sight of him. Rachel doesn't know pressure, not like the heavy heart Jesse tries so hard to keep at bay.
"They don't know love, not like we do," it's beautiful, sounding like a broken bridge to a lover's song. And it's true, no one knows, not like the two souls who sing to breath and breath to sing. When that spotlight hits them the whole world lights up, when they see each other it fades away. "They don't know love, not like we do," it sounds so pleasant coming from his lips that she knows so well; truthful, ubiquitous. But it's broken, an off beat melody to fiddle with, tattered lyrics that'll take time to string together, it's another song for another day, the type of love that won't just fade away. "They don't know love, not like we will."