Open Letter #32

A bit more bitter than usual?


Dear—

I’ve never been the type of person that needs help sorting thing out in my own mind. No matter how utterly dreary my writing can get sometimes. I have volatile, self-deprecating moods, and I learned long ago that alone time can do wonders for the soul—for my soul.

For me, it’s a necessity. I need periods of utter silence to function. Tranquility in the morning for my first cup of coffee, more calm in the night when I just want to sit, listen to music, and forget about the rest of the world. Independent to a fault. So unuse to living with others that that’s how I’ve become. I adore you for trying to break through the transparent bubble around me and going out of your way to find a place for yourself, but you’ve brought a hammer and all that surrounds me is soap. It pops easily. And you do it so abruptly that it startles me away.

People are always different. I’m not the type that will suddenly decide to help you tear down my defenses if you keep approaching me with constant callousness. Do you know how astoundingly difficult it is to find the will to do things when the world is talking over my thoughts? When the safety net I surrounded myself with is forced to grow to fit someone else?

I don’t need any more voices. Rest assured, I’ll call you when I do. Respect that I need to sort things out in my head, that I need time to prepare myself on my own because my mind doesn’t take kindly to the unsolicited.

I am perfectly willing to let you in. But at my own pace. I promise not to take too long. I’m not such a failure of a man to keep someone waiting to the point of doubt, of restlessness, of irritation.

For now, take a hint. I need space.

—N. Rinth

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