Some days I want to be beautiful like when the sun retires into the horizon, and all the colors and hues blend together so lovingly and chafe in the softest of ways. I especially adore how the blue brushes its nose lazily against the pink’s blushing cheeks, creating such a colorful chemistry for all to see.
Some days I want to be beautiful like when the guitarist on the street picks at the strings of his beloved instrument with calloused fingers and head bent low. He sits cross legged against the dirty concrete wall of the corner where you pass by (and trip over the uneven concrete) every day on the way to the coffee shop to get your latte, which you swear is better with soy milk than mine with 2%. You don’t see his face most of the time due to the mop of curly onyx hair that shields his view from the world, but you could imagine the furrowed brows and the slight crooked smile emitted from the notes played. If you stopped to watch and listen, you’d notice how he lifts his head once he finishes a song, and you get a flash of his glazed eyes before he shakes his head to release himself from a seemingly self-induced trance.
Some days I want to be beautiful like when the mother cradles her baby boy in the crook of her elbow, and gazes down into those wide coffee brown eyes that almost blind her when he awakens from a nap. He might begin to cry in the wee hours of the day, but the mother will always heave herself out of bed to rock him back to sleep in the same chair that her mother held her. Every night. Even when her husband gets up first.
Some days I want to be beautiful like when the writer sits perched at his work area with hunched shoulders, eyes glittering and body twitching, and ready to unfurl his nail-bitten fingers that are clasped tightly on top of the fading cherry wood desktop. So many ideas flit through his mind at once, however he can’t seem to elaborate on one because there are so many things to write about and not the right words. Suddenly, his hands are quick to create a relationship between pen and paper, allowing the words to flow unstopped from thoughts to ink. Meanwhile, I get overly excited when I have an idea at least once a week.
Some days I want to be beautiful like when lovers are on the brink of falling asleep in each other’s arms. They cling to each other desperately as their fingers indent each other’s skin, because he leaves for work tomorrow morning and she has to go to her horrid calculus class tomorrow afternoon (never mind the fact that she didn’t do the assignment). And yet, it is all okay. They will see each other again for dinner and complain together about the horrible people they encountered throughout the day, and they will make it work because they are worth it. They will be okay and they know this as their breathing slows in sync and they succumb to their temporary escape until the sun arises from its slumber.
Some days I want to be beautiful like all of these things put together. Those days, my heart feels heavy with the emptiness, my eyes blur just a bit, but I’ll swear that it’s just “allergies”. I’m not allergic to anything.
Some days I realize that I am my own kind of beautiful. Those days, my smiles are a bit wider, a bit more drawn out because they’re elicited from depths that remain untouched sometimes for days.
Every day I realize that it is okay to feel these things because I am human and it is okay, and I am okay.
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So, this is something that I wrote up some weeks ago. And I haven't posted anything in ages. Like three years. I'd like to think that I've somewhat improved in this time. Also, I'm no pro at making covers so I used the cover maker from Wattpad and there it is, idek. So yeah? Alright, bye.
