found and lost
Her cheek is a cushion on which the weary heart can repose and find solace at long last. Her cheek is a cold stone on which the wayward and unwelcome heart will break again and again. Her cheek is shaped to fit the forsaken hollow of your hand, or to leave your hand feeling once again forsaken. Her cheek is soft as shadows and sharp as blades.
Her cheek is an invitation saying ‘Come as you are.’ Her cheek is a map marked ‘Here Be Dragons.’ Her cheek is a poem read in a hushed lilt by Yeats, and a sad song sung softly by Piaf.
These are not contradictions. Her cheek is all that because she is all that. She is challenge and affirmation, she is obvious and subtle, she is sandpaper and silk. She is all that and her mysteries are there to be explored by the avid student of her perfect cheek.
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