Cappucino apple cheeks

The beauty in those moments when everyone else is looking away...

When the light dances in the corner of a ceiling, casting fleeting shadows that seem to whisper secrets.

The sharp sound of a car horn slicing through the thrum of every day.

The sensation of my skin as goosebumps arise unexpectedly, like the first touch of a breeze from a freshly opened window.

The beauty of these slips of life, when no one else sees the things you notice, feels like discovering hidden treasure.

That hum of beauty and of acknowledging yourself as being outside of the moment that everyone else is so mindfully connected to.

What is that called? Is there a name? How would you know?

That nod to life that occurs with or without your attention but is most beautiful in its needless existence, like a wildflower blooming in an abandoned lot.

The flash of white light across cement, transforming the mundane into a fleeting masterpiece.

The acoustics of my heartburn as it rises in my craw only to slide back down over itself into my unsettled gut, a reminder of my body's quiet battles.

The glimpse of a gold fleck that is a stranger to the eye it sits beneath, a fleck from a beach bag that was bought for a momentary future glimmer of who you could be if it were yours.

The fuzz of a dark moustache that is the most sensually feminine sign you’ve seen all day.

A perfect contradiction.

Cappuccino freckles on apple cheeks — eyes so brown with flecks of green and red so very particular, like an artist's carefully mixed palette.

They remind you of a watercolour painting of a landscape in stormy weather—there is burnt umber, Payne’s grey and indigo in there alongside the deepest chocolate brown.

They’re huge and open, loving and mischievous, flecks of challenge and trouble at the centre.

They’re perfect.

Bloody perfect.