I took a stranger’s portrait and somehow found my mother.

She wore pink scrubs—not for fashion, not for performance—but because it was what she’d worn for twelve years.

No smile. No answer.

Just stillness.

Turns out the most profound moment wasn’t the photo… it was the silence between heartbeats.

You’re not too beautiful—you’re just quietly seen.

And now I get it: beauty isn’t given… it’s learned by not looking outward… but inward.

So… you wanna be seen by someone who doesn’t ask?

Comment below. Or just sit there.