Reverent.

I have burdened her in days of old with the heavy weight of expectation. Have contrived to make her magnificent and missed the greater spectacle before me, as if I knew the blueprints to a grander display than the greater powers at play could manage.

Stepped away, and saw her afresh. Refreshed. Came carrying an empty cup, allowed her to fill it by the bottomless reservoir of her wonder, and to empty it again. Fixed, then, my eye on her beauty and witnessed her become the beauty I could not see, previously.

Nature knows a greater philosophy than my faculties of speech have an allocation for, so I hold my tongue before it. And so, too, with a woman, will become busy now with my sacrifices, and ardent in my chivalry and reverent before the providence in her presence.

Why would I expect her to be anything but beautiful? I do not expect an eagle to be anything but an eagle. A man does not live by double standards, and her beauty is inherent.

I receive you, now. As I failed to receive you before. You are not for me to create in my own eye, but a target to adjust that eye to and know there that I see truth. And of love, money, fame or truth, I choose truth. I choose truth. I choose the man who will lead me there and I choose your beauty, unconditionally.

I rid myself of the filter of age, occupation, predilection, predisposition and like the clothes that fall delicately around your feet at the end of a long day, drop everything and stand nude before you, nude in reflection and see only beauty.Β  Thank you, goddess. You need to do nothing for my gratitude and nothing to be beautiful. All that requires change is the perception of the institution that tells you otherwise. Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.

– Michael

Becha_2.jpg
Artwork by Becha

 

nb: featured image by Jamie McCartney

 

 

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