Letters to Lucy || Quinn Fabray

6.5 || What is Beautiful?

Lucy,

It's been four weeks since you left.

I don't know if I will ever see you again, and that's okay for you because you've moved on. I haven't.

-I was just thinking, remember how you always called yourself ugly? I guess it wasn't so long ago, just... six excruciating months spent apart when we never have been before.

Well, there was this one scenario that happened a lot. You'll surely recognize it when you see it; it played out like this:

You'd say, "I'm ugly."

I'd say, "You're beautiful."

You'd say, "You're lying."

I'd say, "You're the liar."

You always thought it a fact that you were ugly; I always thought it a fact that you were beautiful. It's funny, now that I think about it, because neither of us were right.

The question I'm asking myself now is, what is beautiful?

It's only subjective, of course; to be beautiful is not a fact and to be ugly is not a fact. To suggest, though, that you are not ugly, is to suggest that someone is.

It's just like how if you're overly critical of your acne or your bodyweight or your hair, it suggests you criticize those factors on others; and that's okay, I do it too unfortunately, it's only natural to have intruding thoughts.

I'm getting off topic. What I'm saying is, I recently realized you now think you're beautiful, and I'm so very happy for you. I really, truly am.

I realized this when you changed each and every feature you found ugly until you were almost unrecognizable, after only your gorgeous hazel eyes remained untainted by your ambitious motivations.

I thought you were beautiful before, and I think you are beautiful after, but you only like the after photo.

If beautiful to me is different from beautiful to you, then what is beautiful?

Am I?

I'll never know, because you'll never read this, and I'll likely never see you again.

Maya