#33 Won't you tell me
I'm beautiful?
Won’t you tell me I’m beautiful?
Won’t you tell me I look so beautiful and unaware about my hair or the way it moves with the wind or the way it frames my face, a runaway curl, was it?
Won’t you always be waiting there, terribly in love with me while I am blissfully unaware, won’t you
Tell me that I am everything you ever wanted, even with the flaws and the quirks and the experiments I do with my appearance, and the odd pauses, and the awkward silences, and the wistful looks when I see old couples walking by, hand in hand?
What they don’t tell you about all those movies, Angus thongs and perfect snogging ten things I hate about you endless sunshine streaming through the windows and the blinds, they don’t tell you about who wrote it or how they wrote it because they wish the world would just give in and just give it to them —Won’t you tell me I’m beautiful? The way that I flip my hair gets you overwhelmed — all those songs, all those melodies of the times I was a teenager or a tween or just a girl, sitting in my seat in school, wondering when will such a thing happen to me and I’m sure that it must happen soon,
My friend tells me “they set us up for such disappointment! these grandiose gestures, these moments, they’re impossible!”
And I agree, they’re impossible, highly improbable, most likely deeply unlikely, won’t you
Tell me I’m beautiful? I will float in a room towards you as if I’ve known you my whole life except they don’t tell you a lot of it if not most of it is a funhouse full of mirrors — and I —
Don’t know if we looked for romance in the wrong places, hoping and dreaming and wishing to be seen, when
All that it took was to be seen by someone you loved, without pretence or intention or ideas about who you are but just who you are in all your little glory and despair — and I —
Wish someone had told me, wish someone had told us,
That great love is also a great grief, the grief of finding it, of having it, of losing it, all those things we gain with time, retrospective, won’t you
Tell me I’m beautiful? Won’t you be devastated?
Won’t you tell me I’m beautiful?
Because I am
