Beauty is...
Beauty...
Beauty is food to a hungry man.
The groping, clawing pain in his stomach. The nights spent awake, dry tears streaming down his dry cheeks. The thin, emaciated limbs. The huge, bulging eyes.
The compassion through suffering. The understanding glance that one starved man gives to another.
And then...deliverance. Relief. Liberation.
Food.
Comfort, happiness, deliverance.
Beauty is solace to the tortured woman.
No thought but pain. Vision, tinged with red. The hot, uncomfortable sweat, streaming down her burning cheeks into her aching mouth.
The shrieks of pure pain.
An insane doctor’s prognosis.
The screaming limbs. The deafening shrieks.
Pain, death, pain, death. Sick mantras to the sick mind.
And then... and then. Relief.
A deep breath. A swallow of water, rushing down her sore throat.
Solace, relief, comfort.
Beauty is memories to the amnesiac.
Perpetual fog. A veil draped over her hazy eyes. The agony, the ignorance, the pain. The suffocation.
The photographs, the books, the music. The effort to break through the wall, to have some whisper of the past.
The constant rise and fall of the waves. With every crash, more and more hope... gone to the wind, lost to the sea.
And then, finally, a memory. Some clue to the damning past.
Beauty is sight to the blind man.
The agonizing pain through ignorance, of not knowing what another man takes for granted.
The constant, maddening ghosts of sight fleeting through the edge of his vision, of his sanity.
The simple, beautiful joy through music or through the spoken word, but the need to see the player. The soothing comfort of a cool breeze on his skin, but the need to see the tree’s leaves dancing. The ecstasy that the sweet perfume of a spring garden can bring, but the perpetual, maddening hunger to see.
And then, finally, liberation.
A beautiful flower, a serene cloud, the deep crimson of human blood.
Sight, joy, sanity.
Beauty.
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