I never knew
you thought of
me
as beautiful.

Til the night you played me
your scratched record.

It skipped
it was filled with d is sona nce
It had no consistency
but its consistency of cacophonies.

Others would have
thrown the record away,
unable to bear its e
rra
tic ways.
Others would have said it's Broken.
Unfixable.
A disaster.
Too much.

;

But you ,
you weren't like the others.
You did not want to throw away the scratched record;
you did not even want to take the scratched record to a repair shop,
for you ,
you somehow seemed to find
a harmony in the scratched record.

So you closed your eyes to the endless loop of the scratched record
and said It was the most beautiful song you've ever heard

Because to you,
The most beautiful
are the most broken.