I am beautiful. I am beautiful. So you told me, you wrote it down. Handed it to me, shyly or unabashed, it doesn't matter. Our hands palm to palm, I noticed your tattoos. One brief second (how would those arms feel wrapped around me?) and then I move on with my day, albeit with a glow of happiness. (I am beautiful.) In an imaginary world, maybe, this would be the start of something. In my reality it is a small happiness, but nothing to change my daily life. Oh who knows. I am in love and promised myself nothing would change that until things weren't good anymore. Things are still good, only now I have felt your palm with my palm. I have been let in on a delicious secret, and it is this: I am beautiful. I am beautiful to a stranger.