Beauty was what she always associated with others. It was a phenomenon for everyone, except her. She had never loved mirrors. Never had she loved taking rounds in a frilled skirt, looking at its flow, imagining the blues, the reds, the whites spinning into one. It was always like that, it had always been like that, no matter what anyone told her.

It was just another hour late at night. They paid attention to each others soft whispers, relaxing in each others arms as he played with her hair, listening to her stories. He held her face in his hands, kissed her eyes and said,

“You’re beautiful…”

For the next few minutes, that was all she could think about.

Was she beautiful?

But knowing him, she could only doubt her own vague ideas. For there were more days to come and go when he would whisper the same thing into her ears and she would believe him. She never understood what exactly beautiful was, but she could feel it all around her. She could like colors except black and white and greys, she could know a blue sky or a sky dotted with jeweled stars, she could know how life could get beautiful from a deserted, rugged journey to a story where there is a prince charming and his beautiful princess, she could find a meaning in the images, the words, the sounds, the colors and what not, a beautiful meaning.

Thus, she never got tired of hearing how he would always begin.

‘You know what?’

‘What?’, she would ask waiting for those words.

And he would tell her…

“You’re beautiful!”