𝓞𝓭𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂

O Beauty,

you arrive not with thunder,

but with a whisper—

a glint of light on cracked pavement,

the hush between heartbeats,

the moment a child laughs without knowing why.

You are not loud,

but you are felt.

And when you come,

we what it means to be alive.

I once saw you

in the eyes of a woman who had lost everything

but still offered a smile

like it was the only thing left the world needed.

No diamonds. No mirrors. Just grace.

You wore her sorrow like silk—

soft, dignified, shining through the cracks.

And I knew then,

Beauty is not in perfection.

It’s in the worn hands that still hold,

in the voice that quivers but speaks,

in the silence that listens back.

I saw you too,

in the broken heart of a father

who held his child’s hand as if it was the last thing

he could hold on to in this world.

His eyes were tired,

but in them was the kind of love that could heal the soul.

You were there in that fragile moment,

in the small but unwavering act of care.

And I knew then,

Beauty is in the quiet strength

of those who continue to love

even when they’ve forgotten how to keep going.

It is in the moments where hope flickers

like the faintest star in a sky of endless night.

It is the promise that, even in loss,

there is something worth holding on to.

And so,

we rise,

not because we have been spared,

but because we have endured.

We rise,

not with the ease of the unbroken,

but with the strength of the mended.

O Beauty, you live in the scars,

the healing,

the quiet victory of every dawn

that finds us still standing.

We have seen Beauty in the smiles that hide tears,

in the strength we pretend to have,

when inside we are breaking into pieces.

We’ve felt it in the silence after the phone call we couldn’t answer,

in the years we let slip away,

in the words we never said

to the ones we thought would always be here.

We’ve watched as life took from us,

as it demanded more than we could give,

until we were hollowed out,

until we couldn’t even what hope looked like.

And yet—

after the storm,

after the broken pieces,

we rise, because Beauty never left us.

It lives in the broken places,

the cracks we’ve filled with our tears,

the pieces of us that we thought could never be whole again.

Beauty is the force that refuses to let us fade into nothingness,

even when we feel like we’ve lost everything.

You see, Beauty isn’t soft.

It is the wound and the healing,

the laughter through the tears,

the strength in the trembling hands that refuse to quit.

And that is why we must continue to see it—

in the world, in each other,

and in ourselves.

For Beauty is what binds us,

what reminds us that even after the darkest night,

there is always a new dawn.

#WAVibesAndFeelings