Nicked nails

He was beautiful.  His extensions, eyebrows, makeup was all on point.  He had finally achieved the perfect ‘glow’ on his highly coveted chiseled cheekbones.  It was just a matter of combining fake-tan with a little blush.  And his outfit was both daring and yet simply stunning.

There was a definite air about him.  The way he walked.  The way he carried himself.  How he held eye-contact with everyone he met.  And the way he looked at them… it was as if there was no-one else in the room, and they loved him for it.  They were all special in his eyes.

At the end of the day, when this beautiful man would sit in front of a mirror to remove the extensions and wipe away the glow, there he would still be.  A beautiful man.  A beautiful person who’s perhaps only ‘flaw’, (not that it should be considered a flaw, but just another example of his beauty), was in choosing to have nicked nails – refusing to ‘touch them up’, believing he could never be perfect, but would always want to strive to be.  And having nicked nails kept him fighting for it.  Fighting beautifully.

In the eyes of all he met, he was already there.  He was perfect.



Prompted by this link.


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