Drunk on Beauty

Confessions of a Visual Hedonist

Some of us are fed by taste, others by touch. But me? I’m fed by beauty. A shadow on linen. The shimmer of espresso in a gold-rimmed cup. I fall in love with art and composition daily. This piece is a love letter to what I see—and how deeply I feel it.

A floating bath—

  blue crisp water,

    white soft petals,

      orange slices like tiny suns.

The composition:

  irresistible.

               I don’t just notice beauty.

                 I savor it.

Some crave touch.

  I crave aesthetics—

               clean lines, gentle light,

           colors that hush the room.

Call me a visual hedonist.

        I get beauty-drunk

         on watercolor skies

                      and silent symphony.

Crisp linen sheets

  kissed at golden hour.

               Imperfect symmetry—

                 quiet harmony.

A gold-rimmed cup,

  a single espresso,

    a pause.

      A breath.

Beauty feeds me.

        Not because it’s pretty—

          but because life can be

      deliberate.

My pleasure isn’t superficial.

        It’s serene.

         It’s tender.

                      It’s exquisite.

I don’t need 

        to own it.

         I just need

           to see it.

No, I’m not dramatic.

  I’m attuned—

               to texture, tone,

           shadow, space.

To the curated details

  others miss—

      what make life

      feel designed.

Beauty is my drug.

       My sweetest affair.

          And baby—

           I never want it to end.