She climbed onto the sink, her towel falling to the floor, her back to me.
She was putting on her makeup for a show; I was merely admiring the view.
She leaned in closer to the mirror to add her eyeliner and fake lashes.
I looked at her feet. They were filthy.
I had neither seen anyone, nor anything more beautiful in my entire life than in that moment.
But she wasn’t doing it for me.
And she had no idea what either fact did to me.