Monday, March 12, 2012

Apophasis: Love is Blind

I learned a new word today: Apophasis. It means to describe something by not describing it. It reminded me of a flash I wrote six years ago.

Love Is Blind by Ginger Hamilton Caudill

She wasn't a beauty. The bathroom's countertop wasn't congested with small jars of creams. Its cold surface wasn't marred by lipstick stains or smudged with foundation. Her arms weren't slender or long; her fingers didn't flutter like graceful birds when she illustrated a point. Her breasts weren't full and heavy, they didn't threaten to spill out of her brassiere. She hated how her there was no gentle swell below her waist. Her jeans always looked as if they belonged to someone else. Her legs weren't planned in proportion to her pudgy midsection.

Her eyes didn't develop in an exotic almond shape. Her cheeks never flushed; they remained a sickly pale ivory despite either embarrassment or excitement. She couldn't go outside without developing a splash of burnt-orange freckles. Her ears weren't small and delicate like her sister's. Her eyebrows didn't break at the right place, nor did they choose to split in the center like others. Her lips weren't lush and kissable nor even average.

Friends at college had whispered that she'd never marry. "No one will take a second look at her," they said. She hadn't been supposed to hear them, but she couldn't help it. They didn't bother moving away when she drew near.

But she hadn't missed out on love; she'd married a man who couldn't see her shortcomings.

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