Sometimes I feel as though ugliness is a creeping, growing thing. An insidious mould that clings to things, transforms them from what they were to what they are. It creeps into our very minds and memories, until we can't even remember the way things used to be.
I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I were really beautiful. How much easier would my life be if all I had to do to get by was smile?
The answer is a lot. But that's not what I'm for. If I'm for anything.
In the end, all I ask you for, reader, is to try to remember the way things were before you were made to forget.
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