The Eyes of the Beholder

     His pockmarks deflected her gaze like uncredited fists from Bruce Lee's comfort zone. Confident in his sharp whit and chivalrous nature Matt could command a room and have all the ladies laughing. He couldn't keep them from admiring any other man though, unblemished and dull as they may be. Rock idols with filthy blonde strands leaking down to heroin scarred landscapes were once identified as sex symbols and the gritty black and white jacket photos inspired him. Something so great like the tide of tones or just the draw of fame might overcome even the most heinous of physical deterrents.

     She blamed her glasses for repeated nights of Dancing with the Stars and prayed the irritation wouldn't keep those hazels from contacting attention at her cousin's wedding this Sunday. Emily accused her body type for the ill-fitting dress she settled on after two hours of work in the mirror and drove like a demon on God's good side cross county lines for a last minute entrance as the procession began. Envy crept in on cue but she kept her tight smile and hugged new family and victorious rival alike with no hope but to see greener grass when her day comes.

     They won't meet. Even if they did, they are not right for each other. She defines her own attraction but not without the help of every idol photographed and presented to her in line at Vons or on billboards lining her daily crawl to work. He's not interested because she doesn't meet his Buzzfeed manufactured standard. Sadly she is far out of his league even if he was interested, but he'll never stoop so low to discover how far beyond appearances human connection can dwell.