I Wish I Was Beautiful
(Original prose by M.E. Gwynn)
I walk by unseen, average or less, and observe the blank stares of passersby. I’m a ghost, of the living variety, substance without form, a low hum of energy. It has always felt like this, always felt like the world went on around me, but not with me or for me, or even near me. The world is that room, that warm, wonderful room full of couples dancing, laughing, raising glasses of champagne, and I am the wind whistling beyond the window pane, stopping for a breath and looking in before spiraling onward and away. In that moment, I wish I was beautiful, wish I was one of them, one of the happy ones, the ones that are loved….and then the moment is gone and the bright, warm room is a memory. Did I dream it? Was it real?