Reader

I think of you often, reader.
In the dark, in the dark...
You know my power. But power is not strength. I trust you understand the difference.
Here I am, smashed between these walls. How is it that I always find myself here?
There are few people more stubborn than I am. And yet, I am easily swayed by seemingly fanciful notions. I could fall in love with a smile...
But it is almost impossible to fall in love with a person, in their entirety. People are oceans, planets. Undiscovered in their depths. Beautifully infinite. They are fascinating to observe and study. But as of late, I have become afraid at how rarely I am surprised anymore. The blandness ensues.
The world consists of numbers and patterns. It's the manner of their sequencing that creates this 'individualism' among us.
Nature has her ways. She is quietly devious. Beautiful and annihilating. And she makes it seem as if it were entirely your idea.
For all that we are, or could be, we are oblivious to what is of great import.
It's why we seek happiness.

Am I beautiful, dear? Beautiful on the inside?
I suppose no one is, because the inside is where we hide our wrongs.
But I am never wrong.
Am I beautiful?

Reader, your beauty exceeds this world.

O wretched mortals! Open your eyes!