The Blinded

Your problem was that you saw the world too clearly. You looked through the universe and saw all the babies that never were, the poets who died before they wrote a word, the angel who fell for another’s wrongs. You saw the writers without a pen, the singers without a voice, the me without you.
You saw all the bad, but you never could see the beauty.
I wonder why that was.
Maybe there just isn’t any.