She always wore makeup. Always.
Eyeliner, lipstick, a touch of blush.
She painted on a smile to wear everywhere she went whether she intended to attend a party or was pulled along with only a minor amount of kicking and screaming like a hormonal teenager torn between seeing the boy of her dreams and sparing herself from embarrassment. Never once did her smile smudge or smear. Her eyes reminded me of a lake, calm during Spring's gentle breeze. The sun's light reflected off the surface, blindingly beautiful. Her cheeks slightly red, shyness behind the light brush stroke of color.
We had sat beneath the stars many times through the years discussing goals, first kisses, and events however small from the day prior. However horrible my day had seemed, no matter the stress built up or amount of tears flooding the sockets of my eyes, she always kissed away the blues with her soft lips. Her voice was an a cappella reciting lyrics of romance and the pleasures of dance.
We once danced as it rained heavy below a darkened sky, the clouds relentlessly washing away the people, small broken branches, and evidence of nature's own creatures foraging for food. Eyeliner streaked down upon her cheeks as she laughed happily above the sound of the rushing rain. Her hands gripped tightly in mine, dress clinging to her beautiful natural frame. I have never seen her lips reach so widely from ear to ear as she sang her favorite song to the beat of a thousand raindrops falling rapidly upon our shoulders.
I had once raised my voice so loudly my throat had grown sore in an argument over something so stupid I had forgotten the topic of debate yet still she knocked on my door to see if I was feeling okay.
Once in a while she would experience heartache by stupid boys incapable of providing love in a natural state which often led her to my bed. It was never sexual, mind you, the reason she wiped away her tears and drove to the messy bachelor pad I called home. She didn't want to be alone and yearned for the comfort of a caring friend, one that she believed loved her more than she deserved when, in fact, it never felt like it was enough for someone so uniquely perfect.
She always hated that word because she knew we were all imperfect creatures meant to experience mistakes. There was no symmetry in our physical form no matter how close it appeared to the eye, no consistent ability to make every decision correctly, no immunity from illness or pain. "Perfect" was simply a word misused by many to describe what could never be in nature and would cause gravity to quickly yank upon the edges of her lips and create a visibly painful frown. I was usually careful to not say the word aloud in her presence, but sometimes it slipped. Luckily, she never held on too long and let live the imperfect me as I proceeded to entertain my dearest of friends following the misstep.
One night she accidentally kissed me, or led me to believe it was some sort of happy accident that was partially intended yet not fitting for the moment. I'm still unsure of the truth behind her intent, though never before had she lied. Her mistakes were always simple, never harmful, and barely scratched the surface of the heart so I had no reason to believe she was skinny dipping blindly into the unknown. She had always shown focus, her attention sincere and proper as if she was an imperfect creature trying to make the best decisions in life without bending a single petal on life's floral arrangement.
I had not known a proper response, my heart always secretly loving her from inches away while my head maintained the friendship she had always spelled out in the clouds above as we sat, hand in hand, sharing our secrets and guiding one another to smiles when there were none. We were best friends that had trusted one another with the keys to our internal diaries, every word written in plain dialogue, hers in pink lettering and mine in black.
I never felt the fears below the lip gloss or witnessed the tears behind the eyeliner.
She always wore makeup. Always.
Sincerity in her sapphire eyes, smile wide and unending, cheeks flush with happiness.
I can't ask her why she kissed me that night. I won't be able to dance with her the next time the curtains are pulled on the stars. I'll never be able to understand the pain she held so close to her heart that it never once rose to the surface.
I wish I had told her how much I loved her before she went away. She was everything I wished I could be, confident and carefree. Even the setting sun couldn't prevent her from lighting the path to a new day, yet here I find myself with the impression of her slender frame barely a whisper in the grass where we lay many times over the years. A ghost of her smile floating next to me, kissing my forehead.
Inspired by a true story, not mine, not directly.
We can't always see the shadows when we stare directly into the light nor can we escape our shadows by becoming the blinding light. Sometimes becoming the stone means we'll take on more weight than we can bear only to become buried by the pressure when we return to our normal state. Human fragility isn't a mistake or an imperfection, it's not something to be ashamed of or something that we should hide from others. We have to reveal our weakness to heal the pain no matter how much it may hurt to open the wound. We will feel imbalanced, but every dance (unless you're pole dancing or twerking) is about finding equilibrium with our partner.
I have to remind myself of these things regularly because I struggle with my own depression and anxiety. It's [sometimes] easy to put 110% into making someone else feel amazing, but we often forget we deserve a little love, too.
Don't ever hesitate to remind the people around you how much you love them.
Don't forget to love yourself, too.
I'm always here for you and my arms remain wide open any time you need.
Always,
Xander
