Your beauty is impeccable. You’re the embodiment of perfection. I like to contemplate your face and relaxed gestures to see what a free person looks like. You laugh heartly. You run your hands through your wavy hair calmly, and you give out smiles so casually.
You’re not war-torn.
Beauty reminds me of the many things stolen and replaced by chronic pain. The tremor in my hands. The pallid face. The bulging veins in my forehead. The fake laughs and the preferred silence.
The world of occupation, siege and oppression.