as requested, she wore a light, airy blue skirt, the kind that girls wear to coffee shops in the summertime, the ones that reveal lovely wintery pale legs and usually usher in girls' favorite summer pasttime of excusing themselves from impromptu frisbee games due to faux decency. the camera shuttered and clicked around my neck as she shyly melded into poses. long fingered hands in her hair. head, shoulders, knees and toes. scars and toes. bones and toes.
every flaw unscripted, now on film, now digitized for future scrutiny.
then late nights, adjusting lighting, adding effects, sepia this, layer that. hoping to draw beauty from the pain. she cannot acknowledge that each scar is her body rebuilding, every leftover divot in flesh is a reminder that she healed, that she did not die. if i can show her the truth of her healing, the tenderness and beauty of her percieved flaws, i can show her how i am aching to love her.
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