Let's say, you just woke up, and your hair's a total mess. Streaks of dried up drool lines your shirt, and your shorts are crumpled. Your legs bear the red welts of sleeping on rumpled sheets, your eyes are puffy and full of morning star, your mouth is pouting. To summarize it all, you look like shit.
And a guy tells you, you look beautiful.
Your heart races, you smile a little. Fair enough, your teeth are clean, your lips don't crack when you smile. You'd suddenly think that the world is a brighter, more beautiful place to live in. WRONG. You know you look like shit, you've been staring at yourself for the past five minutes in the mirror, brushing your teeth, god damn it. Your hair is untamable with combs and straighteners and you smell like a pig after it's exercised and baked in the sun all morning.
It's when a guy tells you, you are beautiful that matters. Who gives a crap what you look like, cause when the lights go out, and you're sitting under the moonlight on dew covered grass, you can talk about the world and everything in it. In the dark, when you hold his hand, or place a kiss upon his cheek, or run your fingers through his hair, it doesn't matter if he's ugly as balls, or has bad teeth, or if he's shorter than you.
What matters is substance. Apearances come second to everything else. It's when you have a base to fall back on, to know that he wouldn't tell you everything's gonna be okay, to give you that spark of happiness for a single moment. To know that he wouldn't lie to make you happy temporarily, or brace you for the inevitable loss that you know you are going to feel. To know that he'll tell you the truth, not the truth the way he knows you want it to be.
Because anyone can present to you the world's most desired people. But humans, being biased, will always choose the one they love, because to them those are the best, the most beautiful or them all.
Because, blindfold, they don't look beautiful, they are.
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