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The Sky is Beautiful

I was on a drive to my cousin's girlfriend's church. I found myself admiring the city, despite its lacking of variety. Those buildings, apartments, and advertisements, much taller than myself, made me feel not small but a part of a crowd of spectators. As we do with TV shows and movies, I viewed apartment windows on and off, a couple walking their dog, and an advert for Burger King above us. Gazing down as if judging us. Burger King, mockery of God, I thought, you're just as mortal as I. 

Despite my soft nihilism, I could find nothing more beautiful than the sky itself. It was night, a lovely night. The Moon was not out to compliment. Still, the sky, in purple-pink darkness, made everything sufferable. Social life back at school. The contemplations of my own purpose. The people I despise to tolerate. All of it did not matter, viewing this sky. The sky did not judge me. It was not even indifferent. It couldn't ever be. This very sky could not be called beautiful without me and others to do so. And would've never been acknowledged beautiful if none of us spectators persisted despite the struggle. 

I smiled. It was nice. I was listening to Machine Girl. 

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