I like they way their faces glow.
Hot in the cheeks. Eyes soft and satisfied. Skin plumped with radiance.
My mom and sister sit turned in profile across from me - red wine illumination - engaged in conversation.
My mind reaches for a camera. I steal a shot for my subconcious.

And I think:
Beauty is sad and sweet in fleeting moments of genuine attention - at times when we are too preoccupied with life to try or think or act with the intention of a result. Beauty is sinfully imperfect and impossible to measure.
It is an extraordinary accident and rightfully sad that when we stop to question our own beauty, it is lost to us.