the man who made me see this in me has moved on but when I am looking w my eyes I try to stop and look w his and I know mine is not the only truth and I have to smile
She hates the mirror.
In it she witnesses all her perceived imperfections, all her imagined failings, all her familiar faults. She has compared herself to others and found herself wanting. She finds no joy in her own reflection.
I tell her to imagine the glass as my own eyes. To imagine that it is I who is admiring her curves, studying her lines, exploring her body, becoming lost in her beauty.
She momentarily catches a glimpse of herself as I see her, her perfection captured in my vision.
She half senses the reason for my adoration.
She almost understands why she thrills me so.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo stolen from RinaArt