“Beauty is not long hair, skinny legs, tanned skin or perfect teeth. Believe me. Beauty is the face of who cried and now smiles, beauty is the scar on your knee since you fell when you were a kid, beauty is the circles when love doesn’t let you sleep, beauty is the expression on the face when the alarm rings in the morning, it’s the melted makeup when you have a shower, it’s the laughter when you make a joke you’re the only one who can understand, beauty is meeting his gaze and stopping understanding, beauty is your gaze when you see him, it’s when you cry for all you paranoias, beauty is the lines marked by time. Beauty is what we feel in the inside which also shows outside us. Beauty is the marks the life leaves on us, all the kicks and the caresses the memories leave us. Beauty is letting yourself live.”
Never in a million years did I think I’d find someone so utterly and completely perfect, someone who would make me happier than I ever dreamed I could be, someone that would touch my life so profoundly and just give me a whole new reason to breathe. But then I found you and realized that everything I anticipated you to be doesn’t even compare to who you are.
She stood before him just as she was made to be, no lies, no judgement, no fake smile. She showed him the storm that raged within her, the strength of her heart, the stubbornness of her will and the soul that burned like fire and he…. he took all she had to offer, saw the beauty amongst the chaos, stared every flaw, every doubt and every fear in the face. He saw her spirit and ran free with it, he showed her the fire that ran wild within his own soul and together, despite the storms of life, together they set each other ablaze and danced in the flames.
She sleeps all day. Dreams of you in both worlds. Tills the blood, in and out of uterus. Wakes up smelling of zinc, grief sedated by orgasm, orgasm heightened by grief. God was in the room when the man said to the woman, “I love you so much. Wrap your legs around me. Pull me in, pull me in, pull me in.” Sometimes when he’d have her nipple in his mouth, she’d whisper, “Oh, my God.” That, too, is a form of worship.
Her hips grind, pestle and mortar, cinnamon and cloves. Whenever he pulls out … loss. Dear moon, we blame you for floods … for the flush of blood … for men who are also wolves. We blame for the night for the dark, for the ghosts.
I look at you and I understand why the sun sets every night so you can sleep. I understand why the moon stays wide awake while watching your chest rise and fall — bathed in it’s glow. I understand how important your presence is in this Universe, and I will spend light- years if need be, to make you believe.