I won't see the love you don't feel when you're holding me

Sometimes when I take the bus down to the train station I pretend I’m a tourist. That I've never seen the bridge that the bus drives across every day, that I've never seen the water mirroring the sun and skies, that I've never seen the hills in the end of sight. And I see the beauty of it. The beauty I’d imagine a tourist would see. In another place, another country I’d find it beautiful. Here, however, I almost don’t give a thought about it. And it makes me wonder if I’m going to grow tired of beauty- If I’d grow tired of seeing the Eiffel Tower every day. Is it really that easy?

I had a sudden urge to take a picture of my apple core today. I was sitting in my bed beside the window, and I was listening to Bon Iver whilst reading a rather artsy fan fiction. And the rain was pouring down the window. I just thought it looked beautiful. And it made me wonder whether I’d find an apple core beautiful too. And I shot a few pictures, and I delved on it. It’s not what you see that makes it beautiful—it’s the thoughts that come along with what you see. Whether you associate it with something beautiful or not.

For a while I've been a firm believer in that there’s a beauty in everything. If you look closely, if you think about it enough- there is. Sometimes my friends point out buildings for me. They ask me whether I find it beautiful, or interesting, or whatever adjective that leaves their tongue that day. Some days it’s a building with chipped paint and covered in graffiti. And I look at the windows, the graceful details that somebody made one day. I deem it beautiful. And I think my friends would too, with a coat of new paint. But they've already lost the train of thought, and started talking about something else. 

It’s like looking at people- looking at the potential for beauty in everyone. I sometimes wish I had the courage to stare at people, count their freckles and how many times their mouths quirk up when a friend says something funny. But I get uncomfortable when people stare at me, so I’d rather not repay it to somebody else.

I should give thanks to my friends for pointing out old and rusty buildings for me. It makes me look, and think-- about the things I so often forget to do these days, whilst I walk past the things I do every day. In general, I should give thanks to my friends for doing things they sometimes don’t realize they do. But I’m far too closed in on myself to say thanks; you’re so kind I want to keep you forever. That is, without sounding ironic and sarcastic. Sometimes I think my heart just swells in overdose of sweetness. Almost like the Grinch, when my friends say, or do something considering. And I wish I could just let myself put words to emotions.

And that’s a thing, I've been pondering about – when people think you can read each other like they know every inch of the other person. I get it, yeah. Sometimes when you spend all that time with another person, you learn how to read their expressions, and their ways to show emotion. But it doesn't mean you’ll get it right each time. And it’s not always that person will be able to understand that your smile says IloveyouImsogladwemet.

I try to put words to my emotions sometimes. But it’s got to be at the right time, when I think the other person(s) will listen, and understand what I’m trying to get across. Yet, it's when I think the other person won't be able to say something back. I don’t know where I’m going with this- I just want to say thanks to my friends for being who they are. In fact, I want to say thanks to all my friends over the past years. Without them, I wouldn't be the person I am today – whether it was a bad or a good friend. I’m appreciative of all of them.