Realization strikes me like a blow: she’s beautiful. Sitting there, disheveled, hair pointing every which way, dirt smearing one cheek. I remember once wondering if I could learn to find her attractive. Now, I almost want to laugh out loud at my own foolishness. I should have known even then, looking at her for the first time, that all my definitions of beauty were suddenly changed. Since that moment no woman has compared to her in my mind. If I force myself, I can objectively see and list her flaws. Her mouth is too wide, her jaw too square, her nose too prominent. And of course, those
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