In pursuit of beauty,
I must not seek,
But realize—
𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒂𝒋𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚.

To admire Her form is instinct,
To witness Her essence is 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
Beauty is not just what is seen—
It is 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑙.

What is more beautiful
Than to be 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑?
What is more beautiful
Than to admire not only Her feats,
But the 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔?

A sure sign that I have found beauty—
𝑀𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑤𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑜𝑦𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑦.
A sure sign of Her beauty—
𝑀𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

Her grace does not command—
𝐼𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑠.
Her presence does not demand—
𝐼𝑡 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠.
I kneel in 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒,
Yet She lifts me,
Yet She 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙.

She does not 𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑒—
She 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑟.
She does not 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑—
She 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

She is most beautiful,
For 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙.

Her beauty is witnessed by many,
But I have the privilege to 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.
To not just appreciate,
But to be 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑.

I have seen many pretty things,
Yet Her beauty is not just to admire,
But to 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑.
Not a concept to be pursued,
But a 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜.

Challenge me with any distance —
It can never diminish.
It can never wane.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑗𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑦.

No matter how flawed I am,
She does not look down on me.
No matter how broken my soul may be,
She inspires my redemption.
No matter the space between us,
I live 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛.

The depth of beauty is 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡—
It is a truth unrecognized,
Until it pervades the heart,
Until it becomes the soul,
𝑈𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦.

𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠,
𝐴𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠—𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛— 𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒.

Child, remember to be 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 — 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠.
Don’t grow into a machine.
𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑒.


𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲,
Why do you leave me?
I refuse your “upgrade.”
𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟, 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.
I am part of society,
Not a machine in some factory.
𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 — 𝑎 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔.


But it’s no place for lies.
No hate, no time.
No place, for love.
No fate, no time.

𝐼’𝑣𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤—𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔.
It's time for an upgrade.
𝐁𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 — 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧.


𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒑.

𝑴𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒕.

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕,

𝑩𝒖𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕.

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘, 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄.


𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑, 𝑠𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔.
But 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞.
Time for metal to become me.

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲,
It's time to leave me.
𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞.

A NUMBER MAKES A BETTER NAME.

Society stagnates so inefficiently.
𝐈’𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠, 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒.


𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐞.

EMBRACE THE UPGRADE.

It's time to become some thing.

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.



𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚎

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢'𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍     𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

𝙿𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎    𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝚄𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢     𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗     𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜     𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔

𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚂𝚘𝚘𝚗     𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕     𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂

𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴     𝚃𝙾 𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙼𝙴

𝙶𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝙴     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚄𝙿𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙴

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁     𝙼𝚈 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴

𝙸 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶     𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈

𝙸𝙼𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙳     𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝙼𝚈 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚃𝚈      𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙴

The sharp taps of the clock await my silence to break free from my wistful whisper—to never hear it while my eyes are shot open, to find my nerve and trigger it—as the sadness carefully passes through my system. Too far gone to care, leaving me paralyzed in a cold, soft, sinking bed.

It was a momentary piece where my head had the sensation of being stroked like piano keys, where a soft yet disturbing melody filled the place, and I closed my eyes, lulling me to my deep slumber.

There’s that unknown peace where a deep slumber could lead to an eternal doom—where the past, the present, and the future collide together, where everything exists together, whether in a beautiful song that’s pieced together, or loneliness held in thousands of agonies.

One thing is for sure, I have the guts to love the doomsday, and all things are possible because it is the end of May.

We are fragile figures. Our pillows at the outskirts of paradise. Befriended by dreams, the mind begins to process the day in Kodachrome. Once it starts, there's no turning off the pictures. She lies beside me. She's reached paradoxical sleep. I'm still on the outside looking in.

Take me there. Beyond the eyelids, where the mind wanders each night. To where the seeds of disturbance must be resolved within us. Some are strengthened. Others desolve as mist. This is how we survive. Chemical fires burn, become tides of memory. Pass the torch of preservation. Keeping them warm and remembered.

A miraculous routine. Live together. Dream alone. Desolate. Magnificent. My eyes are at the moment the apparitions are shut away. My mind in this place, a stretched fabric. Yet, it's far from alone. In the cataloging of miles and years, I sense an odd fellowship cresting without limit. I thought I saw her smile in agreement from her side of sleep.