Beautiful

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I’m lying on my couch watching some show about serial killers, trying to relax after a hard day at work. Fridays. By the time Fridays get here I’m emotionally and physically drained. He walks up to me and brushes his hand against my cheek. He calls me beautiful.
Laying there I could think of a thousand adjectives that are better suited for me and beautiful doesn’t come anywhere close. My makeup is smeared all over my face, my eyes are swollen with purple bags, my hair is grey and I’m still battling with the idea of dying it again or just letting nature take its course, I could afford to lose at least 60 pounds, and aside from all that I have been noticing my crow’s feet. Yup, beautiful is nowhere on the radar of what I’m feeling, let alone looking like.
I sigh and continue watching my show. I find myself unable to pay attention to it. I’m dwelling on that word, ‘beautiful’. What does that even mean? That is an unmeasurable statement. It’s like time. It’s relative. Sometimes time feels long, sometimes quick. Beautiful is the same way. Some people look at a woman and think she’s beautiful while another guy can look at the same woman and think of her as ugly.
I resolved to my husband is just being kind, that there is no possible way the man thinks I’m beautiful. I don’t feel beautiful. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have low self-esteem or anything. There are times when I actually feel beautiful, this just wasn’t one of those times and lately they have been few and far between.
He’s rubbing my head and telling me about his stressful day at work. I have no idea what’s happening with Jeffrey Dahmer now because I’m engaged in conversation and I’m also focused on my agitation with the word, ‘beautiful.’ He sits on the couch and puts my feet in his lap. He tilts his head on the back of the couch as if he were looking at the ceiling.
I notice the crow’s feet forming around his eyes. The veins in his hands are more pronounced as he sits there rubbing my feet. I see the tension across his forehead. Then I hear the kindness in his voice. His words are well-chosen, intellectual. He’s so smart. I realize as I’m listening to him that people have no idea how brilliant that man is. Honestly, he’s likely the most intelligent man I’ve ever known.
A smile spreads across my lips as I listen to him. He notices it and he grins back at me. A tear forms in the corner of my eye as the words form in my brain. My husband is beautiful.

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