Saturday, September 27, 2008
I have been put under a spell.
I boast neither vanity nor false pretenses about my looks. Some girls are blessed with being extraordinarily pretty or striking, and I am not one of them. I have made peace with this. I’d rather be considered attractive for what lies beneath skin and bone.
Yet, in the small window of time before slumber, I am no longer the plain faced, short limbed creature that walks the Earth by day. I become reborn, my skin glowing from a fresh washing and my usually unremarkable figure being hugged by nightclothes. The invisibility of eyelashes and cheek hue only adds to the mystique. Before my very eyes, I have turned into a woman completely foreign to me. Yet she is familiar and safe.
I watch this stranger braid her hair in front of the bedroom mirror. She is some resurrection of Isolde, of Titania. Her nimble fingers entrance me, and her long tresses ripple down her back as if they were the current of a river. Someone could learn to love this apparition of the night.
The ritual finishes and the girl dives into her undefiled bed sheets. She shivers under their coolness, yet they are a chill that can only bring serenity. In one last habbit before sleep, she turns off the light and curls up under the blankets like a child in the womb.
In one of life’s many ironic tragedies, the few minutes that I am beautiful are also the ones that I am completely alone.
Posted by tiffany;; at 11:15 PM