Blemish

This morning I woke with a blemish (I think that's what the fancy ladies call it, In my day it was a pimple). Regardless, somewhere I learned that I should not show it to you but I did not take to the lesson or its logic because faces make blemishes with some regularity and as far as I can tell we all have faces that function similarly, And so are we to be ashamed for having faces? So instead I say, look at the fine blemish I created and how effortlessly that I created it while sleeping! Imagine that! I mean, how many things do you create while sleeping? No wonder I decide to be proud of it. It's a fine one I think, fine as any I've seen. And I bet it marks just exactly the place that some loved one has kissed. In fact, I'm certain that it has come to surface to remind me. Maybe my skin longs for that kiss again and it's reaching out for those lips. Maybe the lips of one who has passed. And so who can blame that soft skin, the way it reaches for the softness. The body remembers and the body longs for a body that it has never forgotten and never quite disconnected from. Yes in the end, we are all the same and all still connected and so if my body should reach out for yours, or yours for mine in any manor with kindness even in this strange subtle manor, let it not be a shame. If your face rise up to meet mine whether lips to lips or otherwise let it rise and if I am able our faces will meet. For I am certain that everything is an expression of love somehow. And for this, of being a part of this, I am proud. Or maybe it's just a pimple. What ever. We are all still beautiful and need love all the same and I don't mind if you see.