This is just a piece of drabble I wrote up last night. I’ll be in Tennessee through Sunday, so have fun!
She stops to look at me every time she passes. Some days she smiles; she tilts her head left and right. She might even grin at me, showing teeth not exactly straight or white, but it’s a lovely smile anyway.
Other days, she sees me and frowns. Her eyes grow red and shiny, and she says things to me; hateful things. Ugly, she hisses. Fat. Nobody thinks you’re pretty.
I watch in silent despair as she cries, or glares, or just stares at me with dead eyes in an expressionless face.
I never know how she’s going to be when I see her, but I know that looking at me will change her day. She will either grin and nod. Very nice. Or she will darken and hurry away. Don’t look at me.
I want to tell her what I see – unruly hair full of life, eyes that sparkle like sunlight on the ocean. I want to tell her how her strong nose suits her, that her mouth is perfect but that what it says is most important. She should know how beautiful she is; that her weight or height or complexion doesn’t make her ugly, it makes her her. The only one of her kind. Flawed and flawless.
But what can I do?
I’m only a reflective surface.