I believe in life. And I am not deaf, dumb, or blind. Though I have tried to be all three, sometimes all at once. Yet the beauty, it turns out, is most often found buried beneath the ugliest things. Cloaked. Straining to be seen. Unrecognized. As we turn away, convinced it cannot be there.
But life, and hope, are eternal. And so is the beauty, covered by a shitheap. Waiting.