What is beauty? she asks herself today, often. This is beautiful, that is beautiful, the world is filled with so many wonderful, beautiful things. The ambience of a darkened backstage hall before the curtain rises for the opening number. The comforting glow of the lamp as its light envelops you. The sleek, brassy glint of saxophone keys and the deep, gutsy sound that arises from within as though your soul is speaking. The bleeding goodbye of the sun as it dips away. The rumbling fluidity of liquid crystal water. The miracle that is sound. The kaleidoscope pattern of the sun’s rays bouncing off the virginity of an unmarked first snow.
It’s an odd sort of thing, the feeling she gets when she recognizes beauty. It’s like a resonance inside your chest, some sort of ancient connection that has stood the test of time, time and time again. It’s like having lightning tingling down your fingers, teeming with energy, as though you could somehow manipulate that beauty.
But alas, she must ponder upon the negatives that disrupt the beauty in the world. Corruption, ignorance, poverty, and the marks of mailmen upon the virgin first fallen snow.