Ode to beauty

Where are you, o' beautiful? I cannot see you, yet I know you are there, always there.  Masked from my sight, wrapped in swirling swathes of muted gray.  With eyes open I peer longingly and see nothing; with eyes closed I can make out your silhouette, memory proving the strongest of my senses.   Knowing that you are there is enough, knowing what I will see when the billowing obscurity is blown away is tantalizing. You will be dressed in radiant white, the hem of your dress a frosted purple, and piled around you will be the snowy white folds of your train.  The sun that now struggles to shine through the storm overhead will illuminate you in purest light, marking you stronger for the storm you just weathered.
We have been tethered since birth, though each of us unaware of the other. I can't say when I first noticed you, but I will certainly never forget you.  While others hardly notice you, my heart and eyes are forever drawn to you. You stand there, outside their car windows in all your majestic stature and beauty and go unseen.  They look from the red light, to you, back down to their phones, and drive into the worries of the day without a second stolen glance or catch of breath. How can this be? I see you in the early dawn, each ray of light reaching out and gingerly touching your face, sharpening each line, bringing rich contrast to your already surpassing beauty.  Each evening the fading sun stretches your shadow out and as it sets for the night I am reassured you will be there when it comes back around.
You are more than a mere object to me, more than a beautiful sight for my soul. You are a portal to my life, an escape hatch I go to time and again.  For the stale recycled air I breath, you are a fresh mountain breeze. For the brown smog soaked atmosphere of vehicle exhaust, you are a powder blue sky with wispy thin clouds.  For the heat baking my feet and blistering my lips as it reflects back off the pavement, you are fluffy dry snow stinging my cheeks with shards of refreshing cold. For the cramped work-space and caged animal feeling that accompanies city life, you are a spacious meadow filled with every kind of wildflower. In you I find the identity of my soul and what it craves-life and death, harsh and mild, wild and tame, alone and companionship.  You are me, and I am you, our identities inseparable, our definitions the same. If you ever falter, stumble, or crumble my world would surely end. But when my time comes, as it certainly will before yours does, I know you will stand stoic and unyielding, but I believe the streams running down your cheeks will be tears of sadness. And maybe, just maybe one of those streams will run past my grave and we will be together for eternity. The moisture from your sadness will cause a single flower to grow, a symbol of the life you brought to me.