"Have you ever noticed how people look perfect in the dark?"
The dark is forgiving, mysterious, beautiful. It makes me forget my own body. I can only see the good curves; the crook of my hipbone, the round of my shoulder, the meniscus of my calf. Sharpness and soft are balanced in shadows; in dark sweeping lines, night's charcoal draws me confidently. The stillness of everything makes me forget how heavy and fearful I am, and I look down and see my toes, perfect toes, perched atop graceful feet--even my feet are perfect. And so are yours, and yours. And your ear slopes delicately, your chin sits strongly, your forehead is a crescent. Even your fingers are perfect; plush, lithe. And your eyes. And I can barely stand it. Because everything is beautiful, and its hard to keep from crying because the sun rises and we are human again.
"Yeah. I have noticed that."
Beautiful black, come again, give my body back to me.
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Just a collection of ruminations and observations that don't claim to be right or true. Also, figured I should have a reference point if I'm trying to write for a living. Less personal than a journal and less polished than an essay collection.
I had a few things to say, and no one to say them to.
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