Beauty Mark

She stares at me with eyes that belie her age, content to let the rest of her body fall how the world around her sees fit. She lives in these eyes and the world she sees is all that matters. I stare back forgetting for a moment, the vast desert and whipping, purple velvet window curtains. A sudden noise draws my attention briefly, but my eyes soon return to their previous resting place, where a beauty mark has revealed itself. Breathtaking! I envy her. I have had many attempted beauty marks; thousands of candidates. They are common here; a dirham a dozen. They offer themselves to me, and each time my instinct is to brush away the opportunity. I, apparently, am not really to bear the burden. Hers is worn with grace and ease. It has changed locations now. It belonged, for a time, to her soft round cheek, but now has found comfort in the slow predictable breezes just below her nose. It rotates, surveying and ringing it arms in speculative thought. These traits are not beautiful. A person, however, capable of accepting these common worldly traits without the slightest change in mood or life trajectory; this is a beautiful person worthy of a distinguishing mark.