A mother once thought that she had found the most beautiful words in the English language, written by her son. They were as follows :
"and if, heaven forbid, I should die, let my epitaph say this:
He was kind, and he was useful. "
She realized her mistake several years later, upon seeing the proposed epitaph thusly amended :
"He was kind, he was useful, and he had fun. "
Today, I'm attempting to write the most beautiful thing I've ever written. I feel like it's going rather well, but I do have a history of being catastrophically over-confident about this sort of thing.
Simple is beautiful.
Joy is the experience of beauty.
Life is beauty recreating itself.
You can't argue with logic. That's the beauty of it.
And who knows? Perhaps the most beautiful words in the English language are still at large, hidden like an artfully alliterative analogy in a paragraph of prose, sulking somewhere after a full stop silently waiting to split your face with a smile and set your soul sparkling as it should be.
If you're reading this, please know that you are loved.