When you stop seeing beauty

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Basic. Rudimentary. Typical. Classic. Expected.

But has been said after all, not once, not twice, but several times. And once again now. Afterall, this overused statement holds some potential. It holds some uncompromisable value. It holds some unchangeable truth. People see beauty in things, animals, places, souls, and what not but this beauty varies with every perspective. Still beautiful, still lively, but everytime a different touch and tone to it.

A rose, for instance, considered a classic for an example of beauty. The word beauty here might not mean the same for everybody around. Some see beauty in the bright red hue and some see it in the dark maroon undertone. Some see it as a perfect gift for a partner, some see it as a felicitous decor for a white deathbed. It varies. 

Neither does the ability of sight make us capable of seeing it all, nor does it make a clinically blind person mentally blind. It's not in what the mind sees, but in what the mind perceives. So does there really exists a person who is completely blind? I say never.

Nature has bestowed equal beauty in heaven and hell, equal artistry in bright sunlight and dark caves, equal grandeur in still waters and raising storms. But, if all of this wouldn't exist, It would be hard to believe that a philosopher ever lived. Neither poets nor painters. There wouldn't be music in life and no balance and harmony ever attainable. Stories wouldn't be written, fantasies would never be created. The world would be an ugly truth. I muse on the thought if the world is as beautiful as a five-year-old-eating-ice-cream-dreaming-of-travelling-the-world thinks or as ugly as a suicidal-hag-thinking-of-a-perfect-genocide-of-the-earth thinks. I'll leave that to you to ponder about over a cup of warm coffee. For now, beauty is still a relative and capricious god, which some choose to believe in and others choose not to.

But what happens if a person stops seeing this beauty?
Easy to say, but strenuous to imagine. I once told my friend the same things, all he said was that he stopped seeing beauty long ago, he said that all he saw was death, destruction and could sense the presence of his doom to be just around the corner. I sat there staring at him. Didn't say a thing. I saw something he didn't, I saw his eyes light up when we had random discussions, I saw his hair ruffle when he threw himself on the bed, I saw his lips stutter when he was speechless, I saw his eyes relax after a tiring day, I saw his teardrops glisten like diamonds when light pierced into them. I saw the beauty that he chose to ignore.
But sometimes I wish I had told him. Told him that he was wrong. I still want to tell him so, but I doubt he remembers this particular conversation. I wanted to tell him what kind of beauty things have right before they end. Even in destruction, I wish he could see the alluring nature of the dying systems. But maybe he was blind. He chose to be so, so I let him be. I've been telling him from the depths of my mind. One thing, over and over again:

When you stop seeing beauty

You see nothing.