There she was sitting opposite of me in the tram. A young and beautiful girl, skin soft and smooth like a plumb peach, rosy complexion, only very light make-up. No lines in her face. Just very very pretty. Eyes with white without the slightest touch of red, as if she was Photoshop-retouched by a master. Lips painted with a rosy gloss, lashes without a smudge in a deep black.
So pretty and yet so unsure of her own beauty. It made me smile. A bit sentimental too. I remembered when I was the same age, when I was pretty like her, but when looking into the mirror I was unhappy and feeling ugly.
I guess it's always like that. When you are young and pretty you want to be older and think you're butt ugly. And when you are older you realize how pretty you were and there was really no reason why you had to feel so unsure. And now you wish you were younger. And you are aware that in 20 years from today you will wish the same and cannot understand why you felt you look "old" now.
And such, no matter how old you are, how pretty you are, one way or another you are never really satisfied with yourself. Only for short moments you realize that who and what you are at this specific time and moment is really "perfect".
