“I used to be like you but not as beautiful.”
the words give her pause, just for a moment. the pen in her hand stops mid -stroke, and seul looks up into a stranger’s eyes. something is written there that she can’t read ( oh, she wants to know ), and it distracts her from the meaning of the words — the compliment, the value. that is, until there is a gentle reminder as the words circle back around like a river’s flowing water. beautiful. there’s a response ready on her lips, but seul closes her mouth, thinks twice before she speaks. she has to hold her tongue to hide the scars of prior pain. the pieces of glass from a fallen house have stuck somewhere deep inside her ribcage and make her hard to touch. these are the things that make park seul ugly. and still, this stranger finds her beautiful.
it’s the little kindnesses of every day people that bring the barest of smiles to her face. she has to remember that somehow, people can still see the rose without its thorns. she has to remind herself that she too, is a romantic.
we are all of us beautiful and ugly.
her eyes hold him steady in her gaze; she looks at the strength of his back and the way he holds his head and thinks that maybe he has weathered broken houses, too. and in this way, seul wants to give him something ( wants to learn something new ). “ even if you paint yourself an ugly duckling, someone probably thought that you were breathtaking. we all have parts of us that shine; to me, you aren't any different. tell me though —”
it’s simple curiosity that warms the brown in her eyes, wide in their wonder and in their questioning. “ what do you think i’m like?”
