There are days when I am an agnostic about my own beauty.
It’s not that I don’t want to believe in it. Because trust me: I want to believe. I do.
It’s just that sometimes it seems too convenient – a sweet-sounding story to make the shadows recede on a lonely night – and I don’t want to believe something just because it makes me feel good.
I am walking the dog at sunset, stopped at a street corner, waiting for traffic to pass. I am lost in thought.
Suddenly a car flashes by, and for the briefest moment I glimpse a girl reflected in the car window — sun falling over her shoulders, sparking in her hair.
I catch my breath.
I catch my breath even before I know it’s me.
And then the car is gone and the reflection is gone and all that’s left in its place is my shadow, long and lean and dark against the asphalt.
All that’s left is me, asking if what I saw was actually real.
I stand there on the street corner for a long time.
I stare at my silhouette, squinting to see the magic. After awhile, I take out my iphone. I snap a photo. Because I do see it. I do… Almost.
And on the long walk home, I realize that even a shadow can be beautiful — proof that something of substance is absorbing the light, if only for a moment:
If I want to see the sun, all I have to do is turn around. ❤