Beauty

I used to be sad a lot.
I felt like everything was about to break beyond repair, and I was betraying my friends because I wasn't like I was when they met me; quiet, but when I did say something, it was random enough to make them laugh, the good listener, loyal.

Well, I never really stopped being loyal, and they've all returned the favor.

And I don't get like that so much anymore. I still do sometimes, but I've learned to see the beauty in things.
You just have to look under rocks sometimes.

I can see it in that abandoned, ramshackle house with the No Trespassing signs that everyone thinks is a meth lab whose broken windows I'm itching to climb through and explore.
I can hear it in my best friend's laughter, which I can't seem to trigger like I used to.
I can feel when I put my hand on his cheek and kiss him.
I can watch my sister create it with her hands, covered in clay and paint and pastels.

It's not something you can train a camera lens to see,
because it's something only your mind knows how to find.

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