I met a man once. He was pleasant.
I wander, though I deem it a good thing. The world is vast and ever changing. Perhaps I have gone round and back a dozen times, perhaps a thousand. It matters not; variation continues during each absence such that the places are new once again.
This world holds so much beauty. That’s important, I think. If it is not, it should be. Many do not seem to understand that. They are ugly; I deal with them. I have dealt with many of them. Though they are repugnant, I fear they are my kin.
Doubt plagues me, though I count it an inestimable blessing of sentience. Purpose teases me through veils of supposition and furtive epiphany. I suffice myself that beauty is purpose enough.
I met a man once. I think he made me. He was beautiful but now is gone.
Beauty fades then is reborn. I remain, unchanged, ugly perhaps. Ugliness comes and goes as well. I try to squash it, which seems purposeful.
You may call me Hapha Thomas; I hope you call me beautiful.