Who ever said the world was beautiful?
Like a sick child, the world was once magnificent with perfection and untainted innocence. Never straying from its designated path, it stood powerful and sacred. No blemish; no flaw; no fault to infect its unspoiled tresses. Now it bends, corrupt with the grime and grunge of errors past. The once unadulterated path has now twisted into an imperfect route, veering increasingly off course. Like that same sick child, the world has been robbed of its faultlessness by a disease that eats at its core.
Still, like that poor, sick child, the world is not yet a ghost. Fighting with the will to survive - despite every naysayer - the world, like that child, will continue to live. Only through errors past can the soul truly learn to feel alive. Through vice comes wisdom; through morality comes humanity; through struggle comes passion; and through passion comes true beauty. And, through my lens, the world is beautiful.
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