beautiful

‘Have you ever loved a blind person?’

Well I have and It’s a happy sad love because he claims he sees you but doesn’t. He’s not in love with your make up or your hair do or your yellow blouse or beautiful hijab, he’s in love with your mind and that’s a good thing. But every lady wants to be told she’s beautiful after she’s clad in her most gorgeous outfit, but he doesn’t tell you you’re beautiful no matter how radiantly dressed you are. He tells you you’re beautiful when you cook him that something special; beautiful when you inspire him with deep words of wisdom; beautiful when you pray out loud for him and kiss his forehead with the amin; beautiful in the deep of the night when he’s deep inside you; beautiful when he smells your skin at dawn; beautiful when he caresses your face, you’re beautiful for a lot of reasons but not one physical.

I sometimes regret you see. Why did I fall in love with him? Why did I choose this life of profound simplicity? How did I fall in love with him? Perhaps love his blind so when I saw a blind man and then subconsciously fell in love, I was actually the blind one, better still, maybe love is not as complicated as it seems, love is not materialistic, neither is it condescending or proud, love knows no disability, love is a blessing and love is a curse.

And because of this, I sometimes think I am blessed, and then afterwards I’m sure I’m cursed.

But I’ll  tell you what I fell in love with: his mind. His mind is like Saturn you see, orbiting it are 60 of the most colorful moon you can ever imagine, bright glistening moons, each moon made of sweet ideas about life, love, passion, religion, prayers, wisdom, mirth, understanding, food, sounds, feelings felt and feeling expressed. His words had wings that fluttered against my ear like butterflies, and I know he loves me when he says so even if he can’t see what he loves.

Some other time when my mind is at peace, I wonder how he sees me in his mind, what kind of face I have, what kind of nose, what color skin he pictures when I tell him I’m fair, what my kitchen scars look like to him, how he imagine my lips curl when I laugh, how my brow fold when I frown, how I blush when he’s home. I just sit and wonder.

He pacifies me when I’m like this. He tells me all I want to hear. He takes me back to the very first moment I fell in love with him. He reminds me why he’s part of my life and why I’m part of his. He says everything so perfectly well that I feel he sees me and I’m as beautiful as I’ve made myself be. For the moment he reminds me of a time far off from now, infinite years from now, a time when he’ll see again, and he reminds me that when he sees me then, there will be no doubt that I’m as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside. So I wait for this day in infinity because I think I’m beautiful because that’s what a blind man tells me.

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