We all look at the world and parts of it differently. This is established, I suppose. Ethically, literally, emotionally, unbiasedly, our perceptions differ significantly.

To me, I see each person differently, reflecting on a different facet of my character understanding another equally multifaceted and complex soul.

Some people are drawings and paintings.

They are strokes of a skilled artist across a rich canvas of blood and flesh. Every minuscule detail is overflowing with beauty. Sometimes, I can’t look away. I want to spend my entire life admiring this masterpiece. I try painting those deafening messes of lines that add up to meaning, but I only ruin my canvas. Because they all seem to be painted by an artist unparalleled.
Some of you are music.

Oh, how wonderful it feels when I meet someone who’s music is in harmony with mine! To feel their hearts beating with the same rhythm as mine, speeding up, slowing down, and steady. A few are low pitched and send pleasant shivers down my back, a few are bone-numbingly shrill, and some are the perfect pitch of calmness, resonating through every part of my body and deepening my breathing.

But, the remaining few are what reflect the side of me that writes this.

The few of you are words. You are ink spilling from the tip of my metaphorical, yet so realistic, quill, fueling my urge to put you down into words and preserve you as paragraphs for years to come. You inspire me to write poems about the seemingly vast emptiness of our lives, or write stories about the perfect scenarios with characters like you. You make me laugh and cry and ball up my fists in rage, you make me clutch my hair in dismay, and you make my eyes flutter shut in tranquility. Just like words on tattered paper in lost books.

In the end, though, whether I see you as brush strokes of blood on a flesh canvas, or listen to you as the music of your soul, or write you as ink being pressed into thin paper, I see a different kind of beauty in each and every one of you. There is darkness, there is light, there are shadows, there is sunlight, but one thing there in each and every masterpiece, in each and every human being, is beauty.

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Sumedha “Sunny” Vadhulas is a sixteen year old girl from Bangalore, India. I write to express what I cannot say, and to convey lore about what I feel through written words. I love music, books, the rain, kittens, and equality. I write about social issues like feminism and LGBTQ+ communities, philosophy, and just your generic teenage girl stuff. Visit irisierendink.wordpress.com. Contact Sunny at sunnyvadhulas.1D@gmail.com.

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