Does beauty exist if nobody addresses it? Can someone view another person through the lens of love if nobody else has done so before them?
Insecurities take over, invade the spine so it folds into a shoulders-pulled-inward, head-bowed-down posture with a slow pait and nervous glances. Insecurities take over, and they nest themselves in, make themselves comfortable, until they become the truth.
As is the case for Flake- the unnecessary keyboard player. Known as the weird loner kid in his school days, that guy or bookworm as a teen, and as a musician regarded as unnecessary.
And Flake wants to believe it’s true. He wants to believe, because he knows no other truth.
Yet recently, a kind, loving face, has appeared in his life and wipes his anxieties away with a smile and kind words.
He holds hands with Flake- hands with thin, long fingers that have never been viewed as able to bring anything to the table other than synthesizer effects and having their nails bitten into stumps. He hugs a thin body that had never been called beautiful, nobody ever considering the effort to compliment it worthwhile. He smells a scent of Flake’s uncombed hair that has never been called stylish or pretty no matter how it looked, whether it curled, whether it was short, whether it was there at all.
It makes Flake feel a little bit better.