A conversation about beauty

Elena Beste

by Elena Beste

Story

I could see her looking at me. 

„Can I help you?“ I said. I could see her looking at me. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and the summer temperature was making it impossible to do anything else, but to rest. She got up from the cold floor and turned around to face me.

„Are we pretty?“ She asked with nonchalance. I didn’t look up from the book I was reading. 

„We are alright I guess“ I answered, trying to match her coolness. “Beauty is far more complicated than just being pretty. You wouldn’t understand.”

She stood up and walked towards the couch. I was already moving my legs to make room for her, but instead she rested her small hand on top of mine. I looked at her with a questioning look. 

„Can you explain it to me then?“ I sighed. Children have this admirable fearlessness, don’t they? As I gently squeezed her hand, I wondered when was the last time I asked someone a question when I didn’t know further. Did my pride really get bigger than my thirst for knowledge? I cleared my throat.

„I’ve come to learn that beauty is out of this realm. Beauty isn’t something you see nor touch. Beauty is a feeling similar to love or anger, you can feel it inside of you when you see something beautiful.“ 

„What do we think is beautiful?“ I realised I had her complete attention at that point. 

„Kindness. If someone has kindness, beauty just follows along.“ 

“Are we kind?” I tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “We try,” I said.

She moved away from me. She sat on the floor again, legs crossed and facing the window. Her back was leaning on the couch. Something was bothering her and I felt responsible for it. I got up from the couch and sat next to her on the floor. From the open window in front of us, a wave of laughter and music from the street aroused in the flat.

“I think it’s incredibly refreshing to know that one person will pick you from a vast choice of flowers,“ she said. I looked at her, surprised by her words. She didn’t look at me but was facing the window straight in front of her. I looked down at her feet and saw that she was missing a sock. A quiver of compassion and remorse ran through me. I used to be so incredibly myself. I used not to dwell on things too much.

“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I spoke, ensuring my voice carried to her. “I believe it’s time we became our own most important beholder.”


© Elena Beste 2024-05-16

Genres
Novels & Stories, Self-help & Life support