Beastly

I met a boy once

who had thick lines of scars

etched across his face,

each one telling its own story to me

as I stared into them.

At first my weak eyes could not see,

but as I went deeper into those lines,

I could see that the reason for their thickness

lay behind short personal narratives

of indiscretions and consequences;

lies and betrayals;

regrets and mistakes.

And as I stared deeper

into these lines that bled such tales,

Fear slithered across my neck

and whispered into my ears,

Stay away from broken people.

But I couldn’t,

because looking at them

was like staring into my own face.

And so my eyes ran over his face,

tearing these lines apart

so that I could find him.

I suddenly could feel his soft flesh

as if my fingertips were

lying against it.

Then I found his eyes,

feathered and what seemed to be half-closed

and smiling

and I could really see him.

My vision faded out

and the scars

along with their stories

took their positions on his face again.

But I was blinded forever.

I met a man once

who had thick lines of scars

etched across his face,

each one telling its own story to me

as I stared into them.

And he was the

most beautiful person

I had ever seen.