You see the ugly.
I can see it too, if I look for it. I am looking for the pretty instead.
You smell the ugly.
I have a sensitive sniffer. I smell it too. If I plug my nose I can’t smell it anymore. It’s easy. Or I smell something else. Something that doesn’t stink.
You don’t taste anymore. You don’t like sugar. You won’t eat chocolate. You think honey is too sweet.
Honey is too sweet?
I like honey. I like sugar. I like to taste. I am a super taster. I will keep tasting, thank you very much.
I see the honey bees. I thank them.
You see the yellow jackets. You curse them.
You see the fat. You see the wrinkled. You see the age spotted. You see death around every corner.
Yes. It’s there.
I can see it if I look, but I have to look past the happy, the joy, the life. I’m not sure why I would want to do that.
I see moments. There are good ones. There are bad ones. There are stinky ones. I am selecting the ones that mean something to me, and I am trying to only select the good ones. Sure, the bad ones have a place. It is a place that I can set them out for the sun to cook the good back in. It is a place where the fruit flies will come and eat them up. It’s a place where maybe they can marinate into something good.
Some are stickier than others. They cling to my memories like a sludge. Sometimes I think I have successfully powerwashed them away, but it seems that I missed a little speck and they start to regrow, sending spores of negativity over my memories. I have to rewash them. Maybe with extra bubbles. Perhaps a scrubbie brush. Send them down the drain.
At least I am trying.
Do you want your sludge to be washed off? It is growing and growing all over what once was a shiny, happy, good smelling exterior. I remember the good because it made me happy.
You were good.
You still are.
Just start to look over and around and through the ugly once in a while.
There is beauty in there.
Even if you have to plug your nose.