To be Beautiful,
is relative,
to what is beauty.
A puddle in a
pothole,
a rainbow in oil.
A sad smile,
tears on a cheek,
laughing through pain.
A ticking clock,
in an abandoned house,
measuring time.
A meal that lingers,
heartburn,
but delicious.
The hint of nudity,
when not called for,
in casual moments.
An abundance of
subtlety,
in loud places.
The depth of emptiness,
in a crowd,
dancing to the band.
Stilted sunlight,
through blinds,
against a plain wall.
Their laughter,
standing out,
filling the heart.
The beholder,
smitten,
with wry intimacy.
Strange beauty,
abounds,
everywhere.
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