When I see all the people being beautiful, it sometimes seems sad to me. To cherish the fleeting spring in your skin. To spend your precious life plumping and painting yourself to look like your time isn’t trickling away. To pour yourself into something so shortlived and empty: trying to make other people believe you look a way you don’t, that they don’t even care that much about.
Other times it seems lovely that so many people get up and gussy themselves up for a normal day. As if everything is special and the world is worth dressing well for. As if they themselves are worth decorating, however briefly.
It really depends on my mood, and so is telling of my mood. Probably the main things going on for people with this are other things again.