oldewine

I am beautiful, I must remember that. Come hell or high water I am beautiful. I may not feel it, I may not see it and if there were a book that specified the exact physical requirements of a beautiful woman according to man, I am sure I would not come even close. I am beautiful. I look at myself once more in the reflection of the puddle outside my home, short unkempt helmet hair, lanky limbs, pale skin, and a chest that leaves much to be desired. I look upon this body and think it more physically fitting a teenage boy then a nubile young woman. I am however for all my flaws still beautiful, I have no right to deny that assertion. After all