vacation blog #1: the Albany Suite, the Unheard Poet, and my definition of beauty

Well....

I'm sitting on the floor of the largest hotel room (it's actually a "suite") that I've ever been in. It's actually pretty, much better than most. There are 2 rooms. My parents are staying in the bedroom. Rachel and I are sleeping on the sofa bed... actually on the sofa bed mattress on the floor.

Rachel's lying on the mattress watching TV. My mom's wandering around our part of the room because my dad's asleep and she has nowhere else to go. I'm sitting on the floor next to the mattress listening to The Unheard Poet (see his myspace here: myspace.com/xtheunheardpoetx). I love him. He's beautiful.

I suppose my use of the term "beautiful" is strange. If not strange, it's at least different than most. I tend to think of "beautiful," not in terms of physical beauty, but spiritual beauty. What I call "beautiful" is... impossible to pinpoint. I say that The Unheard Poet is beautiful. By this, I mean that his spirit is vibrant. His poems pull me into a different world. [[That's what I want to do with my poetry. I'm not sure I'll ever succeed, though.]] Beauty, to me, is not physical. So when I tell you that you're beautiful, don't look in the mirror and tell me I'm wrong. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so I'll define it how I want.

"If we ever get to kiss, well I've heard is possible for people to burst into flames." - The Unheard Poet