Unpretty

I'm not your average girl. I find it funny I still call myself a 'girl' and not a 'woman' since I'm borderline 30. I just haven't found it in me to note I am not a girl anymore.
I don't think I'm sexy. I'm not dripping with sex appeal and wanton desire doesn't just beam from my eyes, my hands. I don't walk like an angel and I don't glide like a siren, I don't sing like a nightingale. I've been told otherwise but when I look in the mirror, I always see an awkward, skinny, mismatched little girl.
I hated wearing make up. Always have. It ages the skin. it makes the human face look fake. Foreign. But then, I was not flawed.
I didn't have blemishes to hide, or eyes to bring out or cheekbones to highlight.
I was a dorky, tomboy of a girl.
Long languid arms, lengthy fingers, no kind of chestal projection.
In short, I was a short, skinny, flat chested girl. Ha. Some would class me as model status, but I just never saw it.

But I had a pretty face, a great personality. And I was well liked. A fabulous sense of humor.
I've been told my eyes was always my winning trait. They could be a lot of things. Inviting, demanding, conniving, seductive. They could be any and everything.

My first boyfriend truly appreciated my body. He said he would change nothing about me. He adored every inch of me. He liked the natural state. Unaltered.
And I felt good knowing that.

Chris, said he was drawn by my eyes.
I've seen the women he's been with. I'm nothing like them. I'm the exact opposite, truthfully. They're all more mature looking, WOMANLY looking...women.

I was nothing and am nothing in comparison.
I've never not felt pretty. I've felt awkward lots of times but never not pretty.
I'm not stunning, I'm not gorgeous or even beautiful.
But once upon a time....he said I was.
He would go out of his way to tell me just how beautiful I looked. Even if it was in jeans and a t-shirt with messed up hair and no make up.
I'd blush and always accept the compliment.
But then, I did the same.

He's especially easy on the eyes. Great smile, but his face, his eyes, is his meal ticket. And the fact that he's so fair skinned, and tall. It's my thing. I like a tall, man, great smile, wild eyes. And well Chris' is that blue that can be almost clear or bluer than the sky blue. Depends on how the light hits it.

Every time he shaves, I want to simply melt onto him, his face. And I let him know. I tell him almost all the time, how great he looks.

Over the last few years with everything that's gone on...
He ...has become almost PRO in never telling me how I look. Never telling me if I make him happy.
We don't go out often, but when we do, I look my best. For me. For him.
I've NEVER asked his opinion of what I wear. But then again, he has never spent a dime on my to shop. No manicure or pedicures. No massages. No hair cuts. No perms, no colors. Nothing.
He does nothing for my physical well being.

But over the last few weeks...despite what I wore, or didn't wear, there's no...want. No...desire.
It's as though he looks right through me.
When we're out, there's no hugs, no embraces, no proper introductions. No kisses, no hand holding. It's as if he's completely voided me regardless of me standing right next to him.
Today...I was only hurt. No anger. No frustration. Just hurt.
I was investigating the nature of a brand new belt he was wearing, so I pulled on it a little to see how tough it was. He had a cow. And said I was trying to take his pants off.
Didn't touch his pants. Our 2 year old is standing RIGHT THERE. Why would I try to do anything of that nature?

Everytime I get near him he acts as though I have no right to be that close.
I feel so...rejected.
As if I'm carrying this disease and I should be no where near him.

I've asked him time and time again, don't kill me on the head. Or the cheek. I'm not your sister or your child. Don't say "love you too" because I'm not your mother.
I deserve to be in my own category. I deserve to be held and treated like a lover.
Not like a baby sitter or a roommate or a blood relative.

He manages to make me feel unpretty so often, with so little action or a simple word.