pretty.

she told me she wasn't pretty, that she was just very photogenic, but not pretty. i get it, i told her i did. we spoke for hours. on the phone. on the way to work, i'd call her just to hear her say something. anything. her heart. her voice. i'm not pretty. she told me this, more than once. i'm photogenic. is all. the first night we ever met we drove around for hours in my car, aimlessly. every once in a while i'd pull over and stop the car and pull her in for a kiss. at a light we kissed while the light went through its paces changing from green to amber to red and through again. other cars made their way through the intersection, none stopping or making anything of the fact that we were stopped at a light. kissing. paying no attention. we coursed our way across bridges and through the streets, talking, stopping to talk and kiss and tell stories of the lives we had lived. i told her i disagreed with her that she wasn't pretty. she smiled.

i remembered a time when a single kiss had stunned me. once. now, maybe, twice.

i'm not pretty she said. i'm just very photogenic.

g. xo