I was beautiful inside. That's what she always said. Beautiful inside. But it's not what I wanted to hear. She was beautiful outside. She was smart. Shining. Talented. An example. I was always on the outside looking in at her. Kept out of that club. I knew it. She knew it. I was forced to look elsewhere. But I kept looking back over my shoulder. Looking for something that wasn't there. Something imagined. An inspiration. A key with the right to enter.
None of it matters anymore. Everything merges. Only the center holds. She was right, of course. Grasping her beauty in its depth was an inside job.
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