She is Beautiful

To be beautiful.
That's all she ever really wanted.
I wonder if she knows, if she ever saw what I see in her.
Maybe she doesn't see it.  How I wish she would.

Her laughter - the exuberant and colorful sound.  She chuckles at just about anything.  There are no standards of humor, to her, everything is gold.  Sometimes she gets insecure about it, puts herself down for being immature.   But to hear that sound, to see her so full of this joy, it gets me believing again.

The way she dances.  That free spirit - no concern for any of society's judgment.  She's not afraid to live, to look like a fool.  She's quite ridiculous actually; As her arms fling back and forth and her body shakes rapidly, she is the life of the party.  The night is young, the lights are dim, and all I see are her bright and shining eyes, and that big, big smile.  

Her ambition.  A purpose not of this world, because as she's said again and again, this life is not her own; she belongs to something bigger than this world.  She's trying, she's running the race.  And that determination is what gets me up every morning.

Her imperfection.   She isn't refined.  In fact, she's far from anything cultured or elegant or proper. And how captivating that can be.  Through the junk and the clutter, she is messy and disheveled, and all of the chaos is blended and constructed into an abstract, complex, wonderful masterpiece.  In her imperfection lies something not perfect, but something even more beautiful.

Her art.  Somewhere in that mind of her own lies a genius of creativity. As an artist takes the elements of sight - color, form- a musician takes the elements of sound, colorful in expression, carefully choosing notes one by one to produce something so powerful and honest.   Sometimes she doesn't think she's good enough, not talented enough.  I don't want to push her too far, I just want her to recognize her potential for greatness.  She was given a gift no one, not even one, could take away.  

Her brokenness.  Sometimes I can tell she is sad by the way her voice is unsteady, almost stumbling, very fragile.  At any moment she could just break apart, but with all her strength and all her might she attempts to hold it together, because her worst fear is letting her guard down and being vulnerable.
In her sadness there is something so interesting and intricate, and all I want is to know her more.

To be beautiful, to feel beautiful; What a struggle it is.  
Because sometimes all she would see are the flaws, the blemishes.  "Who could love me for all of me, for my stubbornness and foolishness, my mistakes and complexity?" 
But I wish she could know, I wish she could grasp how lovely it is to embrace the beauty of unrefined art - how genuine and authentic it is, I wish she knew.


I hope she knows.  I hope she knows she is beautiful.
Through the faint and dainty, the torn and scrapped, all make beautiful things.  
She is beautiful.