It wasn't a question, rather it was a declarative.
Beauty is generally seen in presence...I invoke it in absence. I love the beautiful wake you leave behind in a departure...a leaving. Being present, being in front of me, the slight rise of your breathing and the scent of a lotion and then...then nothing. But not nothing. An impression. A fingerprint. But left somewhere upon me indelibly.
The velcro-like pull as you walk away.
It's like the need for a drink and finding only empty bottles.
It is a draw. It is a kiss at prom. It is a heart rate increase. It is comfort.
There is a reason we kiss with our eyes closed...to feel the part of another that is best imagined. Best left to the colors of the brain, and letting our mouths decide direction. Our arms to figure out connection.
Beauty is felt. Not seen.
You are quite beautiful...to the eye, and to the scene and to the world.
But you are what is quite frankly the substance of beauty when you are not seen, except perhaps in the bright tug of a memory.
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