But then , perhaps that was his destiny , and not mine . I am beautiful . Growing up , when I wanted to play with the other children , I couldn ’ t . Boys watched me from a distance , whisper-whisperwhispering , never approaching . When I tried to talk to girls , they pretended not to hear me , and I felt their eyes on my back as I walked away . When I tried to play with my sisters , they simply stared at me , stone-faced , until I left . I remember asking my mother why no one wanted to play with me .
Alexandre Cabanel “ Psyche ”
She smiled , and told me , “ Psyche , you shine like the midday sun , and nobody can look upon the sun for long , or even approach it . Your beauty simply overwhelms them . ” I sat outside , and stared at the sun , and tossed those words around and around and around in my head , and I was grateful . But I couldn ’ t help but notice that the sun , that dazzling midday sun , stood alone in the sky , and indeed , it still does . I am beautiful . All of the men say so . Many of the women say the opposite . Perhaps the women say what they say because the men say what they say . These women don ’ t tend to slight me openly – they cluster in the corner and whisper that my face is too wide , my hair unnaturally shiny , my body too lean . I know they must have a point . My sisters , however , are honest enough to say these things to my face . They tell me that my face is thin and sallow and my hair is lank and dull and I have put on so much weight that I look pregnant . Afterwards , they smile , and say , “ It ’ s for your own good , Psyche . You want to keep your humility , don ’ t you ?” I watch them leave , whisper-whisper-whispering like snakes to one another , and I am grateful . But part of me wishes I could just sit down with all these women , and speak with them , and show them kindness , and then we could be friends , even sisters . I am beautiful . So why don ’ t I feel that way ?