You. Yes, You


So when [person] comments, “I almost feel sort of pretty today,” when [person] gets new clothes, a new cut, or simply because of the daylight touching and illuminating [person]’s face in all the right angles-

I always hold back the urge to say, ‘You’ve always been pretty anyway. I can’t fathom there ever being a time when you might think otherwise.’

I can’t really explain it.

It’s not that I like [person] in a romantic sense, nor are we super bffs to require such. I just think there’s something inherently beautiful about [person] that doesn’t change. I don’t know if it’s [person]’s genes, [person]’s mannerisms, [person]’s character. Or maybe simply [person] as a whole.

[Person] is beautiful. But [person] genuinely seems not to know it yet.

It’s a little frustrating, because these thoughts are borne out of pure observation. I don’t intend to make [person] feel good or happy. I don’t intend to praise [person]. It just is , you see? I see it, someone claims otherwise, it puzzles and disturbs me. [Person] is more than a superficial object whose beauty can be quantified by mere physical attributes that change so easily. However much [person] restructures [person]’s self, [person] stays pretty. Stays beautiful. In the way [person] laughs, in the way [person] speaks, the words that [person] chooses to say… A lot of inconsequential somethings that probably amount to nothing and everything all at once.

If [person] might be reading this, then I hope you’d carry at least a little hope that you’re not just occasionally pretty. That aside from either the fanatic infatuation romantic relationships bring or the ostensible awe that a face gives, there are also people who have pretty much nothing to do with you, no reason whatsoever to like you- they just see that it isn’t your face that’s pretty today. It isn’t your current words that are worth praise today. It’s just… you.

Don’t even know why I’m writing this in the dead of the night with coffee being my only companion but… yeah. There you have it.

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