Sunday, July 5, 2015
Friendships are confusing because, as most things, they're things of gloss and sprinkles when first acquired
and full o' flaws when already gone through the washing machine several times.
And after all that wear,
all them flaws you've come across,
to take out the calculator,
Is the sum o' these flaws just what make it your favourite sweater
or a mere piece of clothing you have to wear less often.
(I have friends who are not perfect, in fact, are far from perfect, friends who live continents away, and friends whom I have to constantly be consoling. But it's worth it.
And I have friends that have not as many flaws, but oh the pointedness of the ones they indeed have, make of them the people whom you would depend on for no more than "hanging."
This is not groundbreaking.
But it's the kind of thing that every so often
needs to be said.)
PS. Clarification: Just as poetry can be written in prose, I sometimes attempt to write prose in verse. I wasn't really trying to write poetry. I just like to press the enter bar.