Naked

I write this entry because I need to. It just so happens that the layers of metaphor within this writing scream out.

My ex girlfriend was a photographer. She had several beautiful photos of myself and our other lover at the time. She finally sent them to me last night. I shared them with my wife (who often ponders being a nude model herself and has posed for photos on a number of occasions.)

She got upset.

I got hurt.

I was trying to share something with her. Those photos made me look pretty. I don’t often look pretty in my life. I’m not pretty by nature. But in those photos, I looked pretty. And I wanted my wife to see me through those eyes. I needed my wife to see me as pretty…

instead she was upset.

and I was hurt.

"Maybe I’m jealous." 
"It was six years ago…" 
"I know. I don’t know what’s going on with my head." 
"I looked pretty." 
"You looked happy."

ah, there’s the rub.

"I’m trying to tell myself that it’s just art." 
"Well it wasn’t just art at the time.. I was dating them…." 
"…and that’s not helping."
"I looked good. Even fat, I looked good…" 
"You looked happy." 

why is that a bad thing?

I rolled over and turned out the light.

"I just need to read to either ignore it and get it out of my head because it doesn’t matter… "
"…or what?"
"I don’t know." 
"You hide in those sex books." 

I looked pretty. I was happy.