I want to say something beautiful, because tonight I saw something beautiful, and it made me want to be something beautiful. The honest truth however is that I am inherently flawed and that my imperfection will lend itself to all that I’ll ever do. Instead of being uplifted by the beauty that this broken world can produce I am instead heartbroken for all that I could have been if things had been different. I am lonely in my little world and so painfully aware of human frailty. Hanging out in my heels with just the right shade of stain on my lips I can almost blend into my surroundings, but the truth is that I feel more alone in a crowded room than I do at home with only my thoughts to keep me company. The truth is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and without said beholder it becomes relevant to ask if beauty even exists, strictly in and of itself. As with so many things I fear the answer lies in the ever elusive realm of self love, in which I do something that I can deem beautiful, in which I become something that I can find meaningful. Until such a time I imagine I’ll continue to float endlessly in this existential dread encountering threads of beauty and life which tug desperately at my heart strings.