Beauty in Authenticity

What’s the Point of That?

She Didn’t Even Know

A quiet memory, told in his voice

She walked in
like she always did —
wet hair, fresh from the shower,
no makeup, no perfume,
just her.

Her shirt sometimes clung damp to her back.
Her bra strap might be twisted.
Sometimes there was a streak of toothpaste on her collar.
She never noticed.
And if she did,
she didn’t care.

And I loved her for that.

She wasn’t careless —
she was free.

She didn’t perform for the world.
She moved through it
like a breeze that had never been taught to apologize.

Other women in the room
would glance at her —
some with awe,
some with envy,
some with that look that says,
"I would never..."

But they didn’t know what I knew.
That her hair,
as it dried through the day,
became a crown.
Soft waves, sunlit ends —
not styled,
just becoming.

That her bare face,
without effort or paint,
held more honesty
than a thousand perfect poses.

That her presence
was the only adornment she ever needed.

She didn’t know how beautiful she was.
She didn’t try to be.
And that’s what undid me —
every single time.

And if I could say one thing now…

I would tell her this:

You made color where there was none.
You made silence feel safe.
You made the ordinary look like home.

And when you walked through the rain
unbothered,
bare-faced,
free —
you weren’t just mine.
You were holy.

You still are.

🌿 A Gentle Invitation

If this stirred something in you — a memory, a longing, a name that rose like mist from your heart — take a moment.

Close your eyes.
Breathe gently.
And let them come back to you.

Not to stay.
Just to visit.

Maybe there was someone who saw you,
not for how you looked,
but for how you were.

Or maybe you were the one who saw someone that way —
not polished, not perfect,
but sacred in their ease.

If love has left,
or changed form,
or disappeared without a trace…
know this:

What you felt was real.
What you carry is valid.
And the story still lives in you.

You haven’t lost it.
You are it.