Back arched. Water running down her bronze skin. Wet crystals surf up and down until they hit the bathtub. Her beautiful curves stand obvious to any female-interested eye. Massaging her scalp, she enjoys the water teasing her perfectly hanging breasts-thinking she has come a long way. Water slopes down her back , goes up a perfect half-circle, and finally streams along her thighs. Flawless drops. Flawed skin. And only she knows.
She steps out of the the bathtub, wraps a towel around her and then examines herself in the mirror. The towel drops to the floor. She can see her head-to-toe reflection,unfortunately. She takes a step closer to the mirror,hoping her imperfections would-miraculously- disappear if she looked closely at them. She is one step closer to the mirror. They're still there. They always will be.
She remembers how she felt with water surrounding her body : alive. With every drop caressing her skin, she felt worth touching. With every drop teasing a body part,she felt feminine. The water didn't care. It understood she was human. She can't be perfect. Will the man of her dreams ever be that oblivious ?
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