How did I get so lucky?
That was the constant whisper that kept clanging around in the vast expanse of my mind as I watched her nimble fingers work the Colossal Kajal stick. She then turned around to ask if the line was right, as she always does. And, as always, my breath caught at how much I saw in her expressive eyes.... I managed to choke out a coherent enough ‘yes’. And, as always, the perfectionist took my word for it, with implicit trust in my opinion, and put her makeup away.
I wonder what I’d done to deserve such trust from this one, a woman who had trained herself not to trust the world.
She whipped around the room in the flurry that she’s always in when she is getting ready as I sat back, I’m used to this routine. Her hair, blown around by the fan’s cool air, framed that face that has been making me stop in my tracks for a while now as she puckered up her lips and dabbed on something chocolatey. Yet again she turned around and tilted her head at me, questioningly. My gaze lingered on her lips for a second too long; maybe my eyes darkened a shade, giving away my less-than-decent thoughts for a faint red stained her pale cheeks and she said ‘mch’, turning away with that slight smile.
She pulled on her top, straightened the straps and turned a critical eye towards the mirror. Sighs of dissatisfaction emanated from pouty lips as nostrils flared and she pulled it off before rummaging in the wardrobe for another one. The next one stayed on for a nanosecond longer than the last one and it wasn’t long before a third one joined a growing pile on the carpet.
I stood up, picked up one of the delicate pieces and handed it back to her - you are perfect. She ‘hmph’-ed again in dissatisfaction - you’re only saying that coz you want to leave soon.
It was my turn to let out a sigh... we’d fallen into this routine and she never believed one of the most truthful statements that have ever come out of my mouth.
And as always, I wished she could see herself the way I do.
***
The men in our life, the ones who are here to stay, think we are perfect.
It is high time we do too.
P.S: I'm just preaching here. Gotta long way to go before I get there myself.
That was the constant whisper that kept clanging around in the vast expanse of my mind as I watched her nimble fingers work the Colossal Kajal stick. She then turned around to ask if the line was right, as she always does. And, as always, my breath caught at how much I saw in her expressive eyes.... I managed to choke out a coherent enough ‘yes’. And, as always, the perfectionist took my word for it, with implicit trust in my opinion, and put her makeup away.
I wonder what I’d done to deserve such trust from this one, a woman who had trained herself not to trust the world.
She whipped around the room in the flurry that she’s always in when she is getting ready as I sat back, I’m used to this routine. Her hair, blown around by the fan’s cool air, framed that face that has been making me stop in my tracks for a while now as she puckered up her lips and dabbed on something chocolatey. Yet again she turned around and tilted her head at me, questioningly. My gaze lingered on her lips for a second too long; maybe my eyes darkened a shade, giving away my less-than-decent thoughts for a faint red stained her pale cheeks and she said ‘mch’, turning away with that slight smile.
She pulled on her top, straightened the straps and turned a critical eye towards the mirror. Sighs of dissatisfaction emanated from pouty lips as nostrils flared and she pulled it off before rummaging in the wardrobe for another one. The next one stayed on for a nanosecond longer than the last one and it wasn’t long before a third one joined a growing pile on the carpet.
I stood up, picked up one of the delicate pieces and handed it back to her - you are perfect. She ‘hmph’-ed again in dissatisfaction - you’re only saying that coz you want to leave soon.
It was my turn to let out a sigh... we’d fallen into this routine and she never believed one of the most truthful statements that have ever come out of my mouth.
And as always, I wished she could see herself the way I do.
***
The men in our life, the ones who are here to stay, think we are perfect.
It is high time we do too.
P.S: I'm just preaching here. Gotta long way to go before I get there myself.
Really needed that :) Nice post.. :) :)
ReplyDeleteTell me you are back to blogging.. please ??
(I din't understand what the title means)
Thank you :)
DeleteI don't know :/ I keep disappearing, don't I? I'm so sorry :(
The title, lifted straight off the dictionary, means beauty...
Oh such a lovely writeup!! The way you described the woman. Cant blame myself or any other chick reading for imagining herself as this chick. Super!!
ReplyDeleteThe problem with us is that we believe the criticism more than genuine appreciation. Oh Men!!! Some are such pure love!!
Purpose served :)
DeleteSo true, a negative comment goes straight to the head while it takes months to wrap our heads around a compliment.
SUCH pure love :)
True enough.. We always dress more for women who judge us than the men who adore us the way we are :P
ReplyDeleteAs usual, BANG on description, woman :D
DeleteYEAH. :D
ReplyDeleteFor both :)
Cheers,
Blasphemous Aesthete
Both? :)
Deletefrst time here :) glad to have found u
ReplyDeleteWELCOME! :) Glad you like it here <3
DeleteAh yes, lovely! Been there, done that.
ReplyDelete:)
But of course :)
DeleteInspirational :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Keia :) Been too long!
Delete