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.
At least I can look at you from afar to see the version of beauty that has vanished from my world.
The world of occupation, siege and oppression.