You’re the most beautiful when you don’t know anyone’s looking at you. When you’re engrossed in a book. Laughing at a joke online. Reading a kind message that someone sent you.
You don’t think you’re beautiful, and that’s okay. That’s part of what’s beautiful about you. You completely lack vanity, lack awareness of your strengths.
A lot of really strong people do. They don’t know that they’re incredible.
And it’s the weakest people who are most willing to let you know what they can do well.
You know this. After all, you’re the one who told me that people who brag are the most insecure inside. They’re the ones who feel insufficient. Like a bird puffs up his chest and wing feathers to appear larger when threatened. Territorial in a crisis.
You’re the one who told me that talented people don’t feel a need to announce it. They demonstrate it instead, effortlessly, completely unaware of their greatness.
You’re precisely like that, you know. Oblivious to what makes you beautiful and impressive. And even more beautiful and impressive for it.
Apparently You Look at Me, Too, When I Don’t Know It
I’ve never caught you in the act, but people tell me that you look at me, too, when I’m looking somewhere else. That you do the same exact thing that I do. That you gaze at me lovingly when my attention is directed somewhere else.
I didn’t believe it the first time someone said it. I often feel like you never look at me, but it’s probably because you’re good at not getting caught. You’re probably doing the same thing that I do. Looking for those unguarded moments when I’m not self-conscious, not aware of being observed, of being analyzed. And when you’re not self-conscious as an observer because I’m not returning that gaze.
Books by Page Turner: