the beautiful things

When’s the last time you felt seen for your innermost being? For the thoughts you don’t speak to everyone because they are precious pearls of soul, which take a thoughtful eye to see?

Who have you let witness your vastness, the vulnerable and the mundane, without questioning if the gift was wise? For the depth of emotion and stupidity you possess—wholly accepted, kissed on the forehead, caressed by a smile?

Who has chosen you, again and again, despite stubborn imperfection and deliberate attempts to hide? Buried in truths you longed to be seen, revealed gently, lovingly, by the persistence of light.