You've seen a lot of beautiful things in your life.
At least you think you have.
You were a mere 7 years old when your parents took you to the island of Kauai, and you saw nature at its finest.
When you were 10 years old, a trip to the Grand Canyon left you in complete awe. You had found it boring as hell—until you saw it from the bottom.
As a 15 year-old, you experienced a once-in-a-lifetime trip across Europe, seeing wondrous sights that most people never get to see by the time their life is over.
By the time you were 18, you could claim to have visited 5 of the 7 continents—and it would be no exaggeration whatsoever.
Your parents had money—that's for sure—and you'd always be grateful for those experiences.
You loved it.
But now you're 25, living in one of the greatest cities in the entire world, and you think "beautiful" has an entirely different meaning for you.
Now, you love the way the blue tips of her hair contrast against her leather jacket when you take long walks during the night, or how much the dimple in her chin shows when she laughs.
Right now, what you love is how her lips taste when you haven't seen her in a few weeks, and the sound of her fingers strumming lightly across her guitar, as she plays you a new song she wrote.
When she got her break, you couldn't have been more proud or happy. But with that came strangers' investment in your private lives, and world tours, and teary 3 am phone calls. And you've come to find out that "beautiful" is every moment you get to spend with her.
"Beautiful" is how she says 'I love you' with a bite of her lip and a gleam in her eye. Or the smell of her Brooklyn Nets sweatshirt when she runs into your arms after a 5 hour flight across the country.
"Beautiful" is how she lets herself go completely, while moaning your name on top of you, and you've never felt closer to one another than in that moment.
"Beautiful" is how she tends to look back at you on the side of the stage as she plays in front of thousands. And her stupid dance moves when you guys play Michael Jackson in the hotel room, the morning after a show.
You don't get to see her as much as you used to, but when you do—it's beautiful.
You know what songs on her album are about you, and you know she rolls her eyes when she catches you looking at her butt (she secretly loves it). You know she thinks you're crazy when you call her to belt out the lyrics to her latest single as it plays on the radio back in New York. And you know she loves you for it.
That's what's beautiful to you.
To know someone's smell, or the taste of her tongue after an entire month on a different continent, or for your eyes to have memorized every inch of her skin, and how her lips feel against your cheek—that's what you consider beautiful.
You've seen the world; so has she. But now there is only one thing you can associate with the word "beautiful."
And that's her.