H. grounds her feet into the center of the hardwood floor, gripping her four ounce glass, half red with wine. She fills the room with her genuine smile, the kind that happens with your whole face. A result of the rare occurance of loving herself, only possible through her work. This occurance is always momentary, as doubt is swift, and an excellent robber of self-confidence.
In that moment, I adore her. There's nothing more beautiful than the face of self-love, and she's indulging in her moment. The reflective rectangles of images from her head cradle her from all sides of the room. She created these pictures, and everyone approves.
WARNING: My blog is only one dimension, whereas I am three.
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