Sorry to Bother You, But If You’re Interested — Beautiful Photos Are in the Comments… Full Story👇👇👇
I didn’t mean to interrupt your scroll.
I know your feed is full—news, noise, curated perfection, curated chaos. I know you’re tired, maybe distracted, maybe just trying to get through the day. So I’ll keep it simple.
I saw something beautiful.
And I wanted to share it.
👇👇👇 Full story below.
It started with light. Not dramatic light—just the kind that slips through leaves and lands on your shoulder like a whisper. I was walking through the garden, barefoot, mug in hand, when I saw Ophelia, my marigold, blooming sideways again. She never blooms straight. She leans. She reaches. She insists.
I took a photo.
Then I saw Clementine, my rust-freckled Datsun, parked crooked in the driveway, her rearview mirror catching the morning sun like a wink. I took another photo.
Then I saw myself—reflected in the window, linen shirt wrinkled, hair undone, face soft. I didn’t pose. I didn’t adjust. I just clicked.
And suddenly, I had a story.
Not a dramatic one. Not a headline. Just a quiet unfolding of beauty.
So I posted the first photo. Captioned it: “Sorry to bother you, but if you’re interested…”
The comments lit up. “Where is this?” “Is that Riot in the background?” “You look like a poem.” So I dropped the rest of the pics in the first comment.
Each one a mood. A moment. A breadcrumb.
Because beauty doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it just waits.
And sometimes, you have to be the one who says: Look.
🌿 The Philosophy of Noticing
I don’t post to impress. I post to remember.
To remember how the light felt on my skin. How the petals leaned toward me like they knew my name. How the car looked like it had attitude, even parked.
I post because I want to honor the ordinary.
Because the ordinary is never really ordinary.
It’s the chipped mug that still holds warmth. The garden gate that creaks like it’s telling secrets. The scarf that flutters like a flag of defiance.
It’s the way Dusty June, my rose-colored trench, hangs on the hook like she’s waiting for a story.
It’s the way I show up.
Not polished.
Present.
📸 The Visual Diary
This week’s feed was a flood. I posted every bloom, every breeze, every sleeve that billowed like a mood. Not for likes—for legacy.
Because I want to remember how I felt when the wind hit just right. When the collar stood tall. When the silence didn’t feel empty.
I posted the cracked mirror selfie. The garden gate ajar. The car parked crooked, like it had something to say. I posted the note I taped to my closet: “You’re allowed to be beautiful without explanation.”
And yes, I flooded your feed.
But I also flooded my own timeline with proof.
That I showed up.
That I didn’t hide.
That I let the petals speak.
🧵 The Threads of Connection
Some people didn’t get it. “Too much.” “Too soft.” “Too poetic.”
But I’m not trying to be understood.
I’m trying to be felt.
And for every comment that questioned, there were ten that celebrated. “This is a mood board.” “I want to name my flowers now.” “You reminded me to look up.”
Because when you share beauty, you give others permission to do the same.
To wear the shirt that doesn’t match.
To plant the flower that blooms sideways.
To drive the car that doesn’t apologize for its rust.
To be seen.
🌺 The Garden That Mirrors the Mood
Even my marigolds are loud. Riot bloomed in three directions this week. Ophelia finally opened after weeks of silence. Ghost leaned into the sun like she was daring it to blink.
I watered them in silk.
Because why not?
Because beauty isn’t reserved for ballrooms.
It belongs in the garden.
In the parking lot.
In the mirror.
In the feed.
And when the petals pop, I let them.
Just like the sleeves.
Just like the mood.
Just like me.
👇👇👇
So scroll the comments. See the pics. Each one is a chapter. A confession. A celebration.
Of the person who didn’t shrink.
Of the shirt that billowed.
Of the flowers that bloomed.
Of the story that doesn’t need permission.
Because I didn’t post to bother you.
I posted to remind you.
That beauty is everywhere.
And sometimes, it just needs someone to say: Look.
