I was beautiful

I have been beautiful. I cannot count all the ways and times. I have tried to choose a single one. A favorite. In that, I have always failed.

Some enjoy heighth. I prefer to be short. A certain distance from the Earth— though, this does not matter.

There is Beauty, and there is An Other. It is the feeling of being ‘in tune’.

I am still that single body. Yet, I want that body back.

Jet-black hair; a finger, turning it to gold . . .

… these days, a smart mask, increase beauty a thousandfold. I do want to try it.

Back then, I was so beautiful. And, in a time when I could never truly appreciate it. I could not enjoy it. A thousand thousand pictures, locked away; in Another Time; Another Place. Another World.

I remember.

There comes a time when all the things you say about yourself, they go from something you want to tell everyone— to vindicate yourself— to a secret. Something to hide. There’s too much power in this. No profit in letting any stranger know.

I stare into the mirror, an ocean moving beneath my skin. My teeth fold in on one another; my mouth caves in. Only my eyes remain in place.

The pieces swell. And shift. And writhe. Over/under.

I was beautiful.

I will be, once more.