She was plain – nothing outstanding and yet somehow obviously desired. It was easy to see that in the way he leaned towards her as he spoke; the way their fingers intertwined warmly, like a fire had been made in the hearth of their hearts, in a home built for them both.
And I knew I was more beautiful. Externally only, of course. I felt the twisted, ugly pieces of my soul speak up from its darkness as I pretended not to see them. Her laughter told me that her soul was pure despite her plain appearance. That was her appeal. I could not compare it to my own – I had forgotten what my laughter sounded like.
All I had was external beauty, and that sort of beauty was only valued when it was wanted. Momentarily. Conditionally. Like a well in the desert, celebrated for a moment as the traveler drinks and then forgotten as soon as he traveled on his way. If he does not need it, he doesn’t think about it; like the colors of the sunset or the transparency of the sea.
Yes, beauty was like that…. treasured on a schedule, only when the onlooker was looking. Without the desire to look, beauty is invisible.
And that’s what I was.
With the twisted darkness in my soul, I couldn’t be anything else.
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Deidrea DeWitt 6.27.22