I drank in her ephemeral smile
knowing that the only way
to fully appreciate something
is in the seconds between
our eyes adjusting to the light
and our minds adjusting to the wonder.
I think of all the people before me
who have ever felt ugly
and haven’t had anyone there
to tell them they’re beautiful.
I wish it could have been me.
I wish I could have been an extra
in all their stories,
sipping my drink
and looking up from my book
with compassionate mirrors for eyes
and autumn leaves for words.
I wish I could help people understand
that some suicide notes
are written in invisible ink.