Beauty

"You're beautiful. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently," he said seriously in a leap of heart, a sputter of fire, beaming with bright knowledge.

Objections, darkly subjective and brutal, caught on the roof of my mouth. His words drifted to the floor like falling embers.

I suppose he had expected me to catch them.

Maybe he did not notice the subtle hints of black and blue, the red marks of ignominy, the scars of iniquity, or the bulges of unwanted excess in the darkness.
Maybe he noticed the lightless corner of my mind where un-inked whispers and discontentment thrive on night, where a fire could scare away the perceived repulsiveness.

But I just let the embers fall.
He was too good to be true.

Maybe he did not know that my darkness could not be penetrated so easily.

Yet a spark of light glittered in the depths, and the words created a smoky fragrance that dimmed the senses for a moment, able to comfort the overwhelming fears of inferiority.

And I might have believed him.