She told me that she remembered when. When they stopped looking.
Men.
She had always been a beauty. Her glossy black hair, her strong brows, her slim waist. She had her clothes tailored to exact precision. Her evening gowns were of the memorable variety.
My father told me that when he brought her to cocktail parties that no one ever paid attention. To him, that is.
She was a woman of substance: a medical doctor, an achiever. But she knew the power....
the power of her beauty.
And then slowly it began to ebb: the beauty that made them look. Relentless, uncompromising, insidious.
It was then that they started saying, She must have been so very beautiful.
Treasure your beauty. It's yours. And then {Oh!} it's gone.
Images taken at a photography exhibit of Lili Roze at the La Mamounia. Exhibit through the end of September, 2011, in Marrakesh.