Oblivious 2

   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 bathtub, wraps a towel around herself 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 will--miraculously-- disappear if she looks closely at them. She is one step closer to the mirror. They're still there.

  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.

But she wants to be. Nevertheless, her years of self-consciousness and emotional recovery from teenage obesity have taught her a lesson: one can only be a perfect version of one they already is.

 Still standing across from herself and being exposed to her own,very critical, eyes, she wonders if her physical imperfections have left marks on the person that lies within. Ten years later, she wonders if she's still thirteen-years old inside, if she has grown up at all, if she's more comfortable in her own skin. She doubts it. Then she doesn’t. Then she thinks it’s a maybe.

  She hears music playing in the distance, and in the small space between the mirror and the wall she dances. She shyly watches her wriggling bare curves and smiles at herself whenever she masters a move.

 But no, if water is satisfied with bathing her beautifully-flawed skin, if water is in fact that oblivious , it’s simply because it’s just water. No human being will ever examine her with such a tolerant eye.

 She's too stubborn not to love herself enough until it is exactly how she wants it to be. She never was nor will she ever be oblivious to what she lacks, to what she has, or to what seems to be.

  She takes a deep breath and stares at a reflection of the embodiment of the person she has become rather than who she feels she really is. She thinks to herself that the next time water slides over her skin and makes her aware of her temporary shell, she will have come one step closer to the image in her head, to the love she owes to herself. Perhaps  she’ll have come one step closer to perfection. Or one step closer to being oblivious to it.