There is beauty in the small things

I also stumbled on an online space today where I occasionally write down notes to myself, or random thoughts. I found this from 2007. Lordy, but I was a pretentious wazzocky bastard! In my defence, I was only 26, and no doubt in the depths of despair over something foolish like a boy.

There is beauty in the small things. There is beauty in things that make you happy, and in the things that make you sad. Even in atrocity there is beauty. Beauty in the reaction it provokes, the strength of spirit that prevails and pulls through. There is beauty in sadness, for loss stings all the more when something of beauty slips through your fingers. The poignancy of what was. Of what might have been. And there is happiness to be had through loss. Happiness that you had something so beautiful for a time. That you were able to experience something that was worth the current pain you feel. That experience, and that pain, make you who you are.

Idiot.