By Amelia Chen, TIWP Student
What is beauty? Is it a trait, a sense, a feeling? Does it come from wonder, from manipulating, from a blessing? What makes beautiful? What even makes being? In my hands I hold these musings, gripping firmly, not releasing. Or maybe beauty is just the word you use to label that of … loving. It’s something you admire, want to copy, want to be. It’s a standard that you long for, search for. Or maybe beauty is a verse of rhyme with no reason, a state of life, void of seasons. And perhaps it is just believing in the glory of other people, seeing who you connect to, what guides you to a brother, or a sister, or another. The question of beauty is fleeting, but it leaves a mark. A lasting vision. Some vanishing lark that you try to grasp as you hold these thoughts in your hands, never letting them go—gripping firmly, because you never know.