Day Seventeen.

I missed a day again, but I wrote in my notebook:

True beauty, is not in the shape of your face, the colour of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face. It's not the size of clothes, the length of your eyelashes, the muscle tone of your thighs, how flat your stomach is.
It's the way you touch her face with such careful passion.
The way you hold yourself, with such confidence.
The intensity in your eyes when you look at him.
How you so tentatively push the hair out of your eyes.
The sound of your laughter, the sound of real tears slipping down your face.
Your energy. Your heat.
The way you make him/her/me feel.
Your tangibility.