Within you, like the center of the earth,like the center of anything, lies heat, a burning core of energy, solidified distantly by your outward form. It is funny that beauty is categorized often by what is dead. Because really what is beautiful is the manner by which movement is made, the flow of states, the unseen that is hinted at in between. All things move into one another, sharing the same core, that essential heat which is life–and yet they burn separately, forgetting themselves, thinking that when they sit alone and are lonely that there are none who may see them, who may know them and the things which may pass through their hearts. It passes through all of us, and in our struggle to know ourselves sometimes we destroy ourselves or each other, we pick apart the walls only to see that in another lays the same heat that is the burning of life to see itself, to know at last that life and death are one. To know that beauty is ours. To know that there is nothing that we can do to escape ourselves.