Beauty Only In The Beholder's Eye

The light flickers and I look up to see if the bulb in my room is failing. But it glows constant and moody. The flashes happen again. They come from outside. I look out the window but I see nothing. It is strange that my windows fog up from the inside. I wipe the moisture to look out and I get a glimpse of the city skyline but grey. The cold night air rushes to kiss my face when I slide the windows open. The clouds drift into my room, surrounding me. The fragrance of wet fog and the scattering of the city lights summons nostalgia.

I know you. 

I whisper to the massive, shimmering veil of grey. The recognition turning to disdain as if it were an old friend bearing bad news. But I cannot remain cross for long. I am seduced by the way it wraps around me, by its scent; like a long lost love. I breathe deeply.

The rain sounds like a standing ovation. The buildings in the distance, the congregation. Jagged lines of light appear like they were drawn by infants connecting the stars. The sky lights up and I imagine God staring down at us, taking bad photographs; pushing back darkness long enough to capture the beauty only in the Beholder's Eye.