| Photo by Mario Ashkar Film |

Don’t worry; it’s your imperfections that make you beautiful. Those things that make you stand a bit longer before the mirror, in an attempt to primp them away. Those things that you are first to call out in a photo, just glaring back at you as you wish them away.

Beauty played a heavy hand in our existence, its marks scattered with the casual flick of a brush. It surrounds us, engulfs us, and immerses us until we can’t see it anymore. Its illusive nature, its seductive strands, wrap around us and slide right through our fingers. It is what we crave. It’s also what we cultivate. On our face, in our homes, on the street. An undeniable quest that need not be taken. It lives with or without our doings.

Beauty is pain.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Beauty is only skin deep.

But more than that; beauty defies the hold of proverbs and sayings. Every culture, every lover touches its tender skin. Each face unique, the features hold their own character, inseparable from the individuality of that person. Maybe you can get to know them, maybe you have something in common? Maybe you stay for awhile and let the hours hang like grapes on a vine.

Italian women, they’re the most beautiful.

Oh but Israeli men..

The discussions surround us, prattling away in their superficial luster. Oh but what fun! We are alive. ready to be seen, dissected, saturated, and sucked into the oblivion that brings us right back down to where we come from.

The Earth, rich soil, that beautiful Mother Earth doing it to us all.

Beautiful as a sunny day

The look he gives her

A crack in the pavement

Your hand on his face

When you see it, you know. You hold it close and breath in its scent. Or you walk right by it, focusing instead on the flurry of thoughts inside your head. It’s a choice we make.

We go great lengths to bend ourselves to our ideal of it. Nose job here, detox there. Shifting around like Tetris blocks to live in its never-ending dance. A dance that lives off of warped eyes and lust.

But you know when you’ve had enough. When it’s time to bow to what you have. Shout praise at its altar. Relish in the timeworn statements, the wrinkled hands and the crooked nose. That’s where it’s displayed. The inner revealed. The story made clear.

Stare right through, take it in and release it out. There is nothing left to be done, agonized over or tweaked.

Fall in. The surrender is the beauty.