The first most beautiful thing is,
Laughter,
From the people I love,
It's bubbling joy coating every surface,
Like honey,
Gooey and sweet,
Like my dad's eyes,
Bright and crinkled at the edges from years of smiles.

The second,
Is the warm sunshine on my face,
Billowing in on the wind, 
And devouring me in its afternoon streamers.

The third,
Is a flower field in the sunset,
With a couple in love,
Sharing a moment of hallmark before dusk,
Before the high takes one fail swoop and becomes the lowest point in their lives,
Like the falling action of a romance,
They're left basking in the golden light of the fading sun,
Happy.

Fourth,
Is the moon,
Intensely bright,
Like a magnitude of silver,
Surrounded by stars on a nice,
Clear night,
Cuddling close under a blanket,
Under the sky,
With a loved one, 
Looking for shooting wishes,
Rocketing through the darkness.

The fifth,
Is when the red and orange leaves start falling on a warm fall day,
When all the mountains transform from green to copper,
Giving a livid feeling of comfort,
And a craving for pumpkin pie.

The sixth most beautiful thing,
Is walking through the woods,
The soft grass making your foot-falls near-silent,
The lanes of light coming like paint strokes from the gaps in the canopy,
And all around you a forest of silver birch, 
Creating a scene of peace and serenity,
With the birds quiet melodies strumming through the air.

Seventh,
Is the cool breeze playing with the whisps of your hair,
Rustling the green leaves,
And carrying the scent of snow,
While the spring buds slowly take shape on the bows of branches,
As you walk through the trees, 
You find a gap,
The dappled light on the forest floor slowly emerges into a patch of bright green grass,
And before you, 
Lies a beautiful waterhole, being fed by a small waterfall, 
Lily-pads and katniss plants dance along the surface,
And you feel amity, 
Alone with nature.

The eighth,
Is on a stormy night,
The loud booms of thunder that send the walls quaking,
And the veins of bright light,
Shooting up and illuminating the clouds,
Then, 
The steady pitter-patter slowly dies down,
And as you look out the window,
You see the sun peek out through the dark plumes of the heavens,
And a rainbow,
Sitting bright and true in the wake of the storm.

The ninth most beautiful,
Is the crisp turning of a page,
And the smell of old paper and ink wafting up and creating a nest in your mind,
Cuddling close by the fire with your puppy,
With the streaks of amber and gold casting shadows upon the wooden walls.

The tenth,
Is when you finally release a secret you've held in for so long you can't remember when you started to hide it,
When the dam you've created slowly cracks, 
And the tears finally come,
Hot and salty and fast,
And,
It's finally all out of you,
You're released,
And nervous,
But,
You're proud,
Of yourself,
For finally liberating that weight that you'd been dragging along for ages,
That constant worry over what they'll think if they find out,
It's all gone,
The tears,
The secret,
The regret...
Gone,
And you're finally at peace.