High in the dim…
Do all memories daze this way? It emerged from a hot-boxed haze, while the shallow hush of the shower whited all noise down to a murmur. Everything seemed clear suddenly. I sat on the edge of my kinged bed, coaxing my cocked head to soak in the reflection baring itself in the mirror.
I am beautiful?
I am beautiful. The light shifted, zeroing in on every softened feature, glowing now in its age-ed splendour. Days before, I passed over these breasts for their fallen, pressed down, trodden, dissed figure. But that night they curved, unfurling smoothly and self-aware, above a rounded belly. They drew the gaze from my fleshy face, with the softness of tapered curls framing them perfectly. I tried to remember.
I was a girl once?
I was a girl once. These very breasts were cupped easily by then-slender hands and perked eagerly to call pursed lips to them. This body was muscle and bone, this face — forehead and almond eyes. But there, high in the dim light that aura’ed me, the girl was gone. Replacing her was a fully realized woman.
© Wilfreda Edward 2021
