Then something breaks the pattern.
But the tragedy is not that you keep moving. The tragedy would be if you stopped noticing . Then something breaks the pattern
The person who writes this sentence is someone who has learned to live in the hyphen between resignation and awe. They accept that most of the road is dust. But they also keep their peripheral vision alive. They haven’t given up on beauty—they’ve just stopped demanding it on their terms. Try this: remember the last time you saw something unexpectedly beautiful. Not planned. Not filtered. Not posed. Then something breaks the pattern
There is a peculiar sadness embedded in the phrase “as I was moving ahead occasionally I saw brief glimpses of beauty.” Then something breaks the pattern