beauty is when you can see beyond people's masks and reveries. because within all aspects of life, beauty perpetually exists. in one's being—bare, naked, and spoken, beauty has always been boundless. it lives through every ideology or one's range of intellect, the variety of their unspoken thoughts, or those in which they announce with full volumes in their crescendos. and like the sky taking spaces, too, beauty exists to be seen by those who admire it neatly. and like the unseen beyond of all these rains, one won't see through its beau unless the storm ceases. and like everything entrancing by one's irises—the sky, the sun, and the limitless—beauty has always been ageless—no youth, no years, or adolescence, and everything that everyone counts by digits.
but, as those ages also primed every hour, there was no one who saw past one's eye anymore. nobody saw through one's fraudulent gander, for they've been blinded by that veneer. even the obscenity and deeds mended by these people have always been revered—all for the reason that they're a bella and a celestial with a veil. an angel who, in their lives, has never sinned since they looked divine. whilst, if one can't surpass every zenith they set, one won't ever receive an applause. and instead, they'll be treated like an exile in their own small circle—ridiculed and mocked—for people think that they're nothing but a leper whose grimace in life respire after nobody sees past their faces. and nobody even sees that by giving privilege to pretty faces is like one way of possessing a devil's cornet.
