many things were beautiful.
beautiful, was the rain clouds.
the looming, navy puffs, that shadowed everything in sight.
beautiful, was a birthday dress, from your dad.
one complete with frills, and sequins, and vibrancy.
the love, the caresses, the joy behind it.
beautiful, was a peacock's feathers.
those, that they held in pride, flashing whenever they could.
beautiful, was the moment you described,
when the tension got too much to handle.
many things were beautiful.
but, i reckon that the most beautiful thing to be
seen, was your smile.
the fierce excitement, in your eyes, could
be more concise, than any dark blue floodgate for rain.
it could be prettier than a pink, fluffy dress, from your old man.
your smile, could be more enchanting, than the orange on a peacock.
it could be more emotional, than that one intense moment.
you see, many, many, many things could be described as beautiful.
but, your quirk of those pink, happiness-inclined lips, could change
the meaning of 'beauty', forever.
