Beauty does not rely upon some thing to be seen and yet a garden needs something before it can be validated as holding beauty.
Some declared vessel.
Some idea of how happiness blooms.
Some goal planted between the gardener that has been trying and its fields.
And who is that grower or its yard to disagree with being rooted in those beliefs?
But then, no matter what, the seeds are inconsistent. and the weather is unfriendly.
Leaving a garden and its gardener nervous and saddened within the spaces that they endeavor in.
Color does not rely upon some thing to be expressed and yet an artist needs something in order to not question the expression in its own declaration.
Some purposeful object that belongs.
Some rule to build where the light goes in the dark.
Some second-hand insight painted between the artist that has been practicing and its craft.
And who is that painter or its artwork to deny those mechanics of visual art?
But then, no matter what, paints don't blend as directed and the top looks much like the bottom.
Shifting the creation and the composer into recreating the muddiness of moments longer in feelings than support.
And those same silent decisions breathe within the writer and its protagonist as well as other originators and their work.
Along with the belief that by not fitting within some dance of art and words, they are producing heartache.
This is the confusion in auditioning for happiness observed somewhere around another's bend.
This is the idea that the honesty of debris can't somehow brighten the darkest of pages.
This is the fear of being the one needing to do things differently.
And this is fragile.
But then, no matter what, beauty comes along with the conversation that it does not rely upon some thing to be seen and line after line, love without knowing chooses to follow that very same beat.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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