I’m pretty. I don’t deny myself that truth. People look at me and they think, “Wow, she is pretty.” Or “Look at those eyes, they are beautiful.”
Thank you...
But when I look in the mirror I see something else. I see behind these eyes. I see a girl who knows she is pretty but is yearning for something, recognition; Recognition for something OTHER than being another pretty face. I’m not complaining about being easy on the eyes, and I’m not wishing I were less-fortunate looking. I’m just wondering when someone is going to see past what meets the eyes.
When is someone going to look INTO my eyes, opposed to AT them?
I cannot remember the last time I met someone who wants to experience beyond what meets the eyes. I get the feeling lately that some of the people surrounding me would not be if I were less fortunate in appearance. Not because I am lacking the necessary attributes to obtain human relationships without relying on my appearance, but because nobody cares to look past page one. I find myself entering into newly established relationships excited to show the other individual what lies beneath the surface and to find out what makes them tick as well, just to be repeatedly disappointed when the staple of the connection resides in outer beauty; attraction. I find myself wondering: Is it impossible for me to sit face to face with another human and actually connect on every level, or even more than the basic level? I spend my time in prolonged “romantic encounters” all the while smiling like I’m content when on the inside I feel completely alone.
I begin compromising my desires just to have a moment of false intimacy, thinking to myself that maybe if I wait a little longer, that break-through moment will occur, and they will see beyond my appealing blue irises and see ME. Perhaps it takes some longer than others? I see something in them that makes them indispensable, so if I give them time they’ll realize that I too am indispensable, right? Instead, I end up showing myself to someone who desires me for an extended moment and then it’s over. I badger myself over what went wrong, if I did something, or didn’t do something, when in reality it was simply that the other individual never saw beyond the first layer and they are finished utilizing their original and obsolete desire, my outer beauty.
I’m left with an insatiable hunger of my own, to connect. I desire to be loved but by other than one’s hands, eyes, mouth, words. I covet being seen and appreciated in my purest beauty. Instead I’m overcome with disappointment, shame, and a loss of hope. I find myself staring at the other person wanting to yell, “Look!!!!” “What do you see???” Do they feel anything intellectually arousing when in my presence? Do they see past the long brown hair and blue eyes? Do they see I was once a child, small and vulnerable, with wild wondrous curiosities? Do they see that child still living inside of the seemingly strong, powerful woman I portray? CAN anyone besides me see this deeply into another human being!?! I know all too well the answers that might escape the lips of the individuals so I don’t ask, for it would just further prove the theory of my perpetual loneliness. This imperishable emptiness is potentially worse than the callous feeling of being a harlot, at the disposal of the visionless individuals. And so I continue on, mechanically, wondering when or if my eyes will meet a piercing gaze and if in that moment my soul will be replete with utter contentment.
