Fly on my wall...

Four candles, two flanking each side of me. All other lights are off. I have my radio playing as I light each wick. I start my usual night-time, pre-shower dance; one that I've always done on the other side of the room, away from my reflection. My hips sway, awkwardly at first. My fingertips find the button and zipper of my jeans, and I quickly release them. As my palms push the fabric down, the silkiness of my top meets my upper thighs. I shimmy out of my jeans, stealing a look at my toes.

hmm... I should've given myself a pedicure...

I look back at my face as I stand up. Then quickly skim down to look at my exposed legs.

If this tunic were just an inch or two longer, I could wear it as a dress.

I can barely make out some of my more favorite birthmarks. My freckles and childhood scars are hidden by the lack of direct light. My tattoo stands bright against my pale skin. My strong calves flex as I turn, showing off the soft, feminine curves of my legs.

I continue to dance, slowly lifting and lowering the edge of my tunic. I run my hands through my hair and let them float down my body. They cross at my waist, each hand grasping at the loose fabric. I look at my face, and notice I am nervously biting my lip. I dreamily close my eyes and sweep the top off of me. My eyes open, and immediately gaze at the tunic as I let it drop to the floor. I stand, in nothing more than undergarments.

Just breathe.

I gaze at my face, the familiar span of skin I see every day. The eyes that never lie, even when I try. The lips that convey my passions, both verbal and non-verbal. My face was always the part people would compliment me on, especially when I was larger. "She has such a pretty face..." Few ever finished the thought verbally.

Just breathe. Focus on the music, when it becomes too much.

I slip my gaze down a few inches, seeing the hollow of my neck as I straighten my stance. The roundness of my face gave way to angles of my bone structure. I note that my face shape is no longer simply an oval, but a mix of heart, square and oval. I take a deep breath and see something new. My hands instinctively rise to meet the bones I've never seen beneath my skin- my clavicle. My right arm rises and I flex it. I see that I still have a bit of muscle to my bicep, and realize a saddening fact. My young skin was stretched too far in my heavier days. Loose skin will be a problem, hiding some of my future accomplishments. But that's ok, for two reasons: it will keep vanity in check, and I can do good by donating the excess.

I stare at my chest, and giggle at my choice of bra. Leopard print, and push up. I remember when my breasts were fuller, and turn in profile for a moment. A full cup lost, but that's ok. It's what's beneath the skin that counts; my heart.
Just breathe.
My stomach. It still has a fullness to it, but much smaller than in years past. I can see how my body is bringing it in, slight curves at the edges of where my abs hide beneath the softness of my belly. The half-moon scar from my surgery blushes as I trace the almost hidden line. My hands roam my natural waist and ribs. Perhaps a few more months, and increased reps of sit-ups. I smile as I think of one day wearing a bikini. For a moment, I imagine my hands as not mine, but those of a lover. I let them run over the exposed skin, from shoulders to thighs and back again, memorizing the sensations and newness to my body. I turn to view my back and am pleasantly surprised to see it smoothing. I imagine where my next tattoo is likely to rest, the blank canvas of my skin begging to be inked. I turn to face myself and step toward the mirror.
I look into the eyes that never lie, and quietly whisper... "Hello, Beautiful."