No one can really accurately describe the simplistic nature of beauty. It's all around us, in every imaginable way. Yet we have trouble finding the words.
That's what I keep telling myself.
Yet the pull was there.
They stood tall, boarded up and unused. Forgotten. Or so they thought.
That is the thing about beauty. It's different for everyone. No one person can really understand another's view of the world. We try. But it is as unique as our thumbprint.
It was there, all along. The clouds could even admire.
At least I have always had trouble.
I'll see something truly beautiful and perfect and it can be as simple as a roadside glance. But I can't force myself to stop and admire it, because I'm always on my way to somewhere to see someone. The clock is in charge and I'm left wanting. Telling myself that I'll come back. Somehow, some way I'll be granted the glimpse again and perhaps then I can truly appreciate it.
That's what I keep telling myself.
The morning's clouds hung low and I thought to myself how silly it is to be driving around, lugging a camera with such inadequate light. What pretend photographer could get any photos in such horrific conditions. I couldn't imagine.
Yet the pull was there.
They stood tall, boarded up and unused. Forgotten. Or so they thought.
That is the thing about beauty. It's different for everyone. No one person can really understand another's view of the world. We try. But it is as unique as our thumbprint.
Yet we keep trying, because that is our human connection. To be a part of something, someone's view of beauty and worth.
It was there, all along. The clouds could even admire.
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