artist: Elly Smallwood
He said I was beautiful.
It felt more of a compliment than the guy who snapped a picture of me on his phone at the local supermarket,
then proceeded to call his friends to tell them in a hoarse, frantic voice how “hot” I was.
I just stood there, staring in chock and not even managing to call him out on his hideous action. Did I want to make a scene? No. Better walk away, profoundly ashamed.
The thing is, I hear these things a lot. Me. Beautiful.
I am – beautiful.
I am –
Of course, I immediately started to excuse myself for my runny makeup, messy hair, etcetera. He smiled. Beauty’s not in the makeup, he said.
I pretended to agree.
It is, in my case. I’m just good with the pen, you see. I’m not actually beautiful.
It would be terrifying.
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