Pretty girls remain sharp objects, no matter how smooth their skin. Pretty girls will harm you even if you get down on your knees, tug on the hems of their tight skirts and beg them not to. They will cut you to your core, quickly and loudly or softly and silently. You won’t know which it was until it’s over. A pretty girl will leave marks inside of you that you may not even begin to discover until you’ve nearly forgotten the way her long and silky hair would blow in the summer breeze or the anti-rhythm of her uneven breaths which would threaten to keep you up all night. Beauty is power. No matter how handsome you are and regardless of how intelligent, you are impotent. Pretty girls are nice to look at and no matter how many times they’ll complain to you about the shapes of their bodies, their inadequate height, or their thin lips – they know it.
They know it, and they will use it against you if you let them.
There are stacks and piles of poems written about pretty girls. There exist entire novels and award-winning films devoted to girls in possession of a type of beauty so powerful that no one can deny it is there. Too many artists have spent the better part of their lifetimes painting a pretty girl, just so that her beauty could live longer than she would. People like pretty things. We are drawn to them, regardless of our age, gender, or sexual orientation. But a pretty boy, a pretty flower, or a pretty car will never destroy you the way I am promising you a pretty girl will.
A really pretty girl will get under your skin until eventually you will hear her singing out of key in between your joints and tendons. She will cause you to ache in places you didn’t even know existed. You will lose sight of yourself on your mission to see her more clearly. You might even lose sight of all of the other pretty girls – and there are many – if you are unlucky enough to find one with eyelashes just long enough to destroy you. Your brain will trick you into thinking it’s worth it. Beauty is pain, they’d told you, and maybe this was what they meant.
Pretty girls have existed since the beginning of humanity, and you are not the first to experience their wrath. Nor will you be the last. But you won’t be able to save your successors just like your predecessors weren’t able to save you. So don’t even try. Let the pretty girls get inside of the bodies and minds of the men and suck them dry of all their rational thoughts. Let the men lose sleep. Let them look like fools.
Always notice the pretty girls when they pass you on the street or when they lay restless next to you in your king-sized beds. Remember the way the corners of their mouths crinkle when they smile or laugh. See them for what they are when you look at the way their jeans hug their hips. Note the way that only certain parts of their skin will tan. When her sky blue or honey brown eyes look directly into yours or off into the distance in your direction, think to yourself how pretty she is. Appreciate that beauty, respect it. Fear it a little bit. Do not worship it. For pretty girls remain sharp objects, no matter how smooth their skin.