He said I was beautiful. He seemed afraid, maybe because he said it in spite of himself. He was helpless because of me; the unintentional me. The perversity of human nature made it so.
I was helpless too. I had surrendered myself to the word "beautiful", and in the moment of its utterance, had tried to breathe life into it so that what he said could be true, more for him than for me. No, for me as well as him. I needed to verify him so that he would verify me. It was the culpability of love. The word "beautiful" was as malicious as its loveliness. Vulnerability trailed the last syllable and suspended itself between us, but I snatched it away with a kiss.
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