Sunday, September 8, 2013

Senses of Self

Five sentences on beauty after many near-sleepless nights and a fun and productive but tiring weekend

Senses of Self

She had expected her adjustment to total blindness to be devastating, and at first it had
been, but then the absence of sight became part of her. As they waited for the doctor, she drummed her fingertips on the familiar textured wall and reached over to squeeze her husband’s warm, denim-covered thigh. Sight, she realized, like hearing, was passive, but the purposeful physical connection of touch revealed true beauty and understanding without misdirection. “Come on,” she said rising from the chair and extending a hand, “I don’t need to be fixed.”

Both of his hands closed around hers as he rose, murmuring, “No, you don’t.”

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