oftentimes, it is a perfect stranger that helps me find my way back to myself. tonight it was the well-dressed, silver-haired gentleman weaving his way between the white acura next to me blocking the crosswalk, and my car, politely drawn up to the line but not beyond it. he walked around the back end of the other car then headed toward me as i quietly looked out at him through my slightly open window. we made eye contact and i looked back knowingly at him. it was a look and small smile that acknowledged my own experience with drivers inconveniencing pedestrians and i hoped to encourage him in his maneuverings.
but he read something else in at that moment, some secret my spirit told that i had no intention of sharing. it might have been my freshly sweated skin and flushed cheeks still warm from an arduous hot yoga practice, or more likely it was my right hand that gave me away, clutching at my heart, trying to still its aching throb that had, moments before the gentleman caught my eye, needed the pressure of my palm to calm and contain it.
but whatever lines he read between, he read them instantly and he read them well. just as he turned to round the front of my car and return to the crosswalk, he said so simply yet so tenderly:
you're beautiful.
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