Beauty is aesthetic appeal. The superficial qualities of a thing. The way it reacts with light or shadow. The majesty it exhibits in the wind, when wet, when unable to pose for a picture, and thus unable to suck its midriff in. The confident, intelligent, spotless, composed-yet-effortless vibe it exudes at first glance.

But sometimes beauty stems from elsewhere. From action or mystery or altruism. It is symmetry. The satisfaction felt from combination, unity, from the way puzzle pieces fit together just so. It is a key clicking every tumbler in a lock. Then turning. Then opening a door to a freshly made Chinese buffet, or satisfying Greek diner, serving everything with a side of anything. And Jello and soft serve for dessert.

Beauty is the complementary nature of two objects, and also the pleasure of a complimentary mint. It is an evolving, everlong slight turn of the head. Beauty is a spark, then a flame, then hot coals, then wisps of smoke dancing into the night sky. Beauty is through its fat phase. It only drinks mostly on weekends. It wears sundresses or a tie and it recycles now. It wears pajama bottoms.

Beauty is a leap. A confession. A dangerous and humiliating act performed with hope. It is a love note to an invitation for a batch of cookies. It is a shaky voice, a zit, a bad haircut ignored. It is a trembling slow dance filled with awkward talk. It is getting the fuck off the bleachers and regretting nothing.

Beauty is dedication. Devotion. Failure. Then continuation. It is a treasure found one coin at a time. It is breaching the surface the moment before drowning. It is every light switch in a dark, empty house. It is the way eyes look for familiar faces in foreign lands. The thought of home. Beauty is burnt toast scraped clean and served in bed.

Beauty is a swinging chair on a porch in a rainstorm. It is a did-you-just-see-that lightning strike. It is a rush of adrenaline, a moment of insight, the realization that fate has been kind. Beauty is an offered hand, bed, or heart. It is the breaking down of preconceived, and the rebuilding of something wholly different. It is standing right in front of you, waiting for you to notice.