Some days, I feel a little like this old tired building. My doors squeak, my paint is often cracked and maybe even peeling, my windows are worn by the seasons and might be a little hard to see through, the old roof which started out as a tight black thatch, has become faded and much thinner then my younger days. Yet, I still hold beauty, but only to those who have an eye to see passed the initial glance, those that can look at the years of protection afforded to the occupants, the safety from storms and the pride of ownership . Unlike this building, I do have the potential to change myself. I can, like those viewers that pass beyond the surface, see my own beauty. I can run my fingers through my greying hair and feel the years of experience trapped in the pigment. I can look in the mirror and see a road less travelled and admire my own patina. Not with eyes of boastful pride, but more with a feeling of a job well done so far. No matter what the weather and seasons threw at me on the plains of life, here I stand, upright and ready for the next season, whatever that may bring.
I was made at some point by something or someone. That entity loved the new creation that was me, and I am sure still thinks of me from time to time with a kind thought.
As should I.