Untitled Part 28

3 2 1

Sometimes I think that Van Gogh was more right than he was wrong. He looked around him and saw life, so beautiful he couldn't help but paint it. Flowers dark and vibrant, a multicolored sky swirling around the brightest of stars. Beauty found in everything. But every time he looked in the mirror he could not say the same for himself. He painted himself to see if he could give himself the same beauty the rest of the world had. But it never worked. Or perhaps it did, but the recreation felt wrong, false. The portraits never showed him what he wanted to see. Surrounded in a world so filled with beauty, how could you ever feel like you were worthy of it? How could you ever feel like you, with all of your flaws and imperfections, deserved to be surrounded by such beauty? He looked at himself and all he saw was a stain on an otherwise flawless painting of life.

So perhaps he was right after all. The world, so immense and varied, is beautiful just the way it is. And us, with all our flaws and imperfections and unseeing eyes, are not quite worthy of it.

But maybe he was wrong, and all of our flaws are what makes us worthy. After all, the world around us is not perfect either.

ApathyWhere stories live. Discover now