On beauty and admission of guilt

One would not know how much I abhor make-up being applied by people, particularly on girls. With the very rare exception thrown in, I’d always say, you’re much prettier without make-up, or something along those lines. You can say that I’m not really a big fan of pictures of people with make-up (when it comes to its aesthetic value, anyway; I would appreciate those pictures based on its emotional significance. Case in point: graduation pictures)  It’s more real. It’s beauty at its roots, without pretensions.

Speaking of beauty, it would not be very surprising that I tend to hold back on using the word ‘beautiful’. One hand would be enough to count the people I’ve called by that word. Or maybe two, but it’s not that much of a difference.

It’s funny, though, that despite my having a template for the ideal girl, I tend to violate them. If there was a jail purposely made for transgressions done to the self, then I’d have been incarcerated in that filthy thing for a long while.

But then, I’m guilty of it, after all, and I’m not going to deny it. In fact, I’m serving my sentence right now.

Don’t get me wrong, though. You’d think that I’m real despondent being thrown in that damn room, when I should be enjoying my freedom?

No, not really. I tend to conquer my environment. Don’t worry about me.

I’m looking forward to serving my last lifetime sentence.

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