Dear Artless Hearts,

Candidness is one of the most truly beautiful things in this chaotic mess of a cosmos. 

Those raw moments of complete honesty, 

Unforeseen and unexpected. 

Those brief moments where we catch a tiny glimpse of something natural in a world that is anything but. 

Gusts of wind snatching skirts, 

trembling stage frightened hands, 

the heavy exhale after you close the door separating you from the world after a torturously long day,

the first sip of coffee in the morning, 

 losing your tongue to your passions, 

stubbed toes, 

panicked gasps, 

wet hair, 

and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

The look that graces your face when you think of someone special when you're all alone, 

the first raindrop, 

  The pause after the "Once upon a time...",

untouched snow, 

the part of you that poetry shakes and lyrics sings to, 

missed steps, 

and waiting on second chances. 

My friends tease me because I notice hands. 

I think hands tell a lot about a person. 

Where they are callused and the condition they are in speaks volumes about a person's habits, interests, and priorities. 

And just like the rest of us, 

they are in a constant state of becoming. 

The way a person handles things, 

 steady,
graceful,
rough,
 strong,
 gentle,
 reckless,
 intentional,
careful,
 or careless

also often reflects how they will handle me.

Fingertips draw circles on the table top, 

tracing lines and cavort precariously at the edge, 

And he does just that around my heart. 

She tells me stories and explains the process, 

her mannerisms so much like her mother, 

graceful and intentional, 

although she claims her hands are unsteady.

And she is the most beautifully graceful and sure footed person I have ever known.

The passion flies out of his fingertips as he fuses himself to the melody.
I watch him breathe in the notes like the purest oxygen
as even the twitch of his brow speaks to the piece.
His hands hold a strength entirely their own.
Calculated and methodical,
but somehow still solicitous,
thoughtful and kind.
And he defines the boundaries of discipline and the expansion of passion in a way that scares even me.

And there is an unparalleled beauty in her eyes.
She sees into the very nerves of strangers and sets fire beneath their skin with wonder.
The wind catches her words and scatters preconceived notions and impressions,
leaving them with questions they never knew they needed answers to.

Or at least that's what she has been told.
Belief is a curiously slippery thing.

These glimpses of honesty are possibly some of the only truly lovely things left in this world.
I believe the most exquisite things about people are the things they leave unsaid.
Beautiful things don't ask for attention.

Isn't it rather offbeat that what makes you a nonpareil masterpiece
is a direct result of you being perfectly artless? 

Consume yourself in these minuscule blinks of triviality.
Organic beauty is found in the details.
Especially in the ones that are harder to see. 

With all my love, Meg