Her powerful and provocative artistry fails to capture the hearts of those who don't quite understand her message. Often overlooked in the art world, Beyoncé has struggled for years to gain the respect of her peers. That all changes when she meets A...
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Peaches?
The name was unexpected, and yet, hearing it come from her lips, it felt right.
It fit.
She spoke it with a hint of awe, a hint of reverence, and a hint of uncertainty, her inflection lilting.
It was almost surreal, standing before her once again in a different setting, in a different country. Here she was: the woman who had captivated me, whose presence had consumed me, had taken residence in my mind, and she refused to leave. She stood there, inches away from me, her image clearer than the projections surrounding us.
Her eyes were the same, warm and welcoming, the corners creased with a deep dimpled smile. A grilled smile. Each meticulously crafted silver piece followed the contour of her front bottom row teeth perfectly, creating a gleaming metallic armor that was both eye-catching and sophisticated.
On her upper left incisor, nestled above the silver grill, was a tiny star-shaped gem. It was a delicate yet radiant accent that twinkled like a distant star in a silver night sky.
And another new addition that was unexpected.
A red tattoo on her right cheekbone, just below her eye, of an outline of a heart. It was somewhat tiny, it could've easily been overlooked, but I couldn't miss it. I couldn't tell if it was a real tattoo, painted on with makeup, or simply a temporary one, but the sight of it made my pulse spike.
Everything about her seemed soft, yet edgy...and sexy.
So sexy.
"Wow," she almost whispered, as if she thought she was dreaming. "I...almost didn't recognize you. You look so different."
"Yeah. I...uh, it's probably the hair," I nervously chuckled, my fingers instinctively running through my hair.
"I love it," she said, her eyes fixated.
My face heated. "Thanks. I'm still surprised you remember me."
"I don't forget people easily. Especially when they're memorable. I never did get your name, though, since you ran off twice before I could ask," she smiled.
I winced as I recalled that day, hoping to put it behind us. "Beyoncé."
"Beyoncé?" she repeated, her voice filled with wonder.
"Yeah. That's my name," I laughed. "It's not a nickname or anythin'."
"Huh."
"Is...there somethin' wrong?" I questioned, the nerves returning.
"Nothing. That's a beautiful name," she complimented, her expression thoughtful.
"Really? Most people think it sounds too...out there, and weird," I admitted, the vulnerability surfacing.
