I reach out for the longest hugs & the shortest goodbyes. The permanence of most things annoy me. They feel calm & restricted, like they’ve got all the time in the world to feel what my mind ardently wishes to feel right this second. They mock my callowness & boast of how quaint & subtle their smiles are. They want me to meekly accept my fate & oppress my youth like others before did. To cross my legs and shut my mouth. That’s how they define BEAUTIFUL.
There is no beauty in quiet to me. Beauty is a garland stringed together with all your messy, loud imperfections, to create something completely unpredictable, but mesmerising. Beauty isn’t found in textbooks. Beauty is scattered all around, in the muddy jungles where your heart beats the loudest; during those sleepless nights when your ghosts come out to haunt you; during thunderstorms with candles, lighting all the nooks and crannies of your asymmetrical face; inside unread letters sealed with wax that you’re too scared to open.
In conclusion, beauty is you.