The Regalities of Plainness — Bryn Bluth

I promised not to intrude, not to pull you apart thread by thread, only to restitch you into something you aren’t, someone more beautiful and poetic than you are, but I’m breaking that promise, Dear Friend, breaking one thing to fortify another, and I am sorry, because I hate to rift our friendship, but I need to do this. You will forgive me, I am sure of it, and if you don’t, that is your character in question. P

Through cascades of colored ribbon that are our voices, mine a solid forest green, yours, a vivid purple, I found you intriguing, a person of interest, someone I wished to know. My aspirations of friendship were eased through common threads in the textiles that we are made of; a favorite author, a fondness for music, and corresponding views on society made me comfortable with the concept of you.

Although I realize you may not see me as much, just a childish plaything there for your amusement, to talk to and soon forget about, I will have you know that I disregard your pretension, I am blind to every negative thing about you. This is not denial, it is the way I choose to live my life, and I hope that you might see this through your oblivion to the positive.

Hearing you hum out the emotions of you, plucking away six-stringed anxieties, I find myself thinking. You may say that I am always thinking, but in all honesty, I am really only over-thinking, which is so different from the trim, organized thoughts I think when a tune of yours is there to sift them out for me. I can’t remember serenity, what it feels like, but music takes my cluttered mind as close to it as possible, and yours is not the exception. Keep it coming, I long to hear your solemn expressions.

You, in one word, are an outlier, perpetually engaged in silent mental warfare with your own person, yet trying to contend with the frustrations and simple agitation of the world. There is no need to find yourself, only express it. I think you do a marvelous job, slipping snarky comments between utterances of pure comprehension, throwing us all off just enough to continue on with your independent cognition. I see what you are doing, and although I find it harder to communicate day by day, and my internal brilliance is held captive in a shell of naïve gaiety, I know the strategies of cerebral combat you are using, for I practically created them.

I realize you’d rather be left alone, rather recluse to the depth of your logic and never be human, but you don’t, and I am so thankful for that, because although at times I find you to be a conundrum, like the infinitely unsolved Rubik’s Cube sitting on my desk. I will always be here, me and my empty compliments, my empty compliments and I, we’ll wait for you. Until the day comes that you find yourself in need of justification, I will wait.

I realize now that I haven’t broken the aforementioned promise, that is, that I wouldn’t write you as something you aren’t. I haven’t broken it because everything I’ve written here is valid and honest, no author’s license needed, just a few metaphors. This epiphany does not counteract my firm stance that you will never read this, that is a promise that will remain standing, you will never read this, and I am sorry. I look forward to the day you wear those impeccable flaws on your sleeve, the day you show everyone and me past the tip of the iceberg, the day I know will come, because your webs of pretension and modesty cannot shield me from the depth of you.


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