I am reading this memoir and every third sentence is a variation on, “Then I hated myself for not looking like a Vogue model,” and I think about you, the women I know, and how beautiful you are.
The rounded curve of your laugh.
The scientific facts on the tip of your soft and glowing brain.
The sharp and angular thrust of your cynical wittiness.
The shimmering intertwined lyricism, the poetry of your words.
The touch of your kind hand as you listened to me rant, tearily, about the state of the world.
You are so beautiful. And if the world was struck blind tomorrow, your radiance would still shine.
Photo Amber Kezzie