Relative Nakedness

She leaves her bed in the middle of the night..

She goes into the bathroom and looks up in the mirror..

She washes her hands and face..

Rinsing.. brushing.. washing.. trying to get it off of her..

She smells the stench that refused to just go away..

Is it her rotten heart?

Is it her dead dreams? Her suffocated hopes?

Or is it her dying soul?

She stares at her self-reflection..

Her wide.. big.. black eyes.. sad so sad the look in them..

Her face.. her perfectly-drawn features..

She knows she is beautiful.. she just can’t feel it..

So calm she looks.. so peaceful.. so strong.. so capable.. so young..  and yet so sad..

She gazes at her naked body.. it does not feel naked anymore..

Why is that she wonders?

It comes back to her……..

Every part of her body reminds her of every kiss..

Every turn, every curve.. reminds her of every touch..

Naked is relative, she figures..

How naked you don’t feel now, has to do with how naked you felt then..

It isn’t your body that gets naked.. It’s your soul..

She looks deeply into her gorgeous eyes..

Wondering if anyone would see beyond her glass eyes…

Hoping that no-one notices what lies beneath her sweet smile..

Her hair lies softly on her shoulders..

Hazel brown..

She wonders would she hang on for it to meet winter..

She walks back to her room..

Puts on her dress..

Turns on her desk light..

And she writes about that Deep Naked Look she once recognized in a mirror..