>What do dey stan’ for? I’s gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore out wid worke, en wid de callin’ for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos’ broke bekase you waz los’, en I didn’t k’year no’ mo’ what become er me en de raf’. En when I wake up en fine you back ag’in, all safe en soun’; de tears come, en I could ‘al got down on my knees en kiss yo’ foot, I’s so thankful. En all you waz thinkin’ ’bout wuz how you could make a fool ur old Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is trash; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren’s en makes ’em ashamed.
Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn
I heard the most beautiful thing today, and it was a six year-old twin saying she loved her sister after someone pushed her to the ground, leaving her to tears alone.
I smelled the most beautiful scent of oranges for snack today and it made me feel alive.
I tasted the most beautiful bit of nothing today: pure, clean, and cold water. How fortunate am I?
I felt the most beautiful thing today. I saw someone hold someone in need and plant a small kiss when no one was looking.
I saw you walk away with them, and I’m pretty sure I wanted to cry. I’m sure somewhere jealously comes into play and maybe it’s just the thought of losing you that bothers me. Such agony is green and caustic; it’s entirely my fault that I feel distraught as such. You’ll always say you like me well enough, but can I ever really believe it’s anything more than polite conversation (I’ve never actually heard you mad at me)? I’m not Romeo, so maybe my love is rightly unrequited. Maybe just loving you is enough.
I saw the most beautiful thing today. I’m pretty sure it was you.
The real reason I haven’t tried writing my novel yet is because I’m afraid to discover that I have nothing to say.
Kind of like now.