A short note to a friend incapable of seeing her true face... Where is your face? Not the physical bit of stuff facing out from your head, but the face you've described...

In your words, that face is not merely what you see in the mirror. It is the keeper of all the stories; the tales of ugliness, failure, whorish behavior. But where is this face? I ask because I cannot see the face you point to with your words.

This face of despair and loneliness...where is it?

I see eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and they are all pointed in the right direction, and all with the proper orientation. I see the beauty in your smile. The way you turn your head when listening for something off in the distance. The little wrinkles that pile up at the top of your nose when you laugh. And your eyes...the angels marvel at the little turn your eyes make when you're up to something clever. I clearly see all of this...

But where is the face you speak of?


It must be a deficiency in my functioning, because the sight of the creature you describe so confidently through your stories, I have never once seen.

When I look at you, I see none of what you've described. I see the flower, blooming for all, never begging, never lacking, always giving...

Why do you not see this?