Ruins

I love perfectly imperfect things and people.

Not just broken, or old. Not just chipped or scratched. Not ruined either.

I love the way some people, some places, some things are so perfect that their wrinkles or cracks make them even more interesting, more lovable, more more.

Those cracks let the truth shine through and that truth is not only rare, it is often filled with a light and wisdom and beauty that creates a love greater than love.

It is that momentary burst of light late in the day that becomes so enchanting I cannot tear my eyes away.

It is a gift.

In every form, it is a gift for the one who has the eyes to see it and the heart to hear it.