“Do you love me?” Jolie asked.

Despite knowing that her beauty had the ability to take up an enormous amount of space, I didn’t need to look into her eyes to know that she was doing that thing again, showering herself with doubts. I could see her reflection on the sliding door constantly darting her eyes toward the door as she convinced herself that she needed to undergo this procedure in order to feel beautiful again. She was biting down on her cheeks like she always does when she’s nervous as she has lost her appetite for her natural beauty. As much as I wanted to enter the hospital room and kiss her soft cheeks and remind her that the love we shared surpassed her physical appearance, I knew deep down that wouldn’t remove the pain that lingered in her eyes when she constantly sees images of other women artificially enhanced. The advertisements, movies, and celebrities, all promoted a monolith of women that undergone cosmetic procedures to achieve the face and body that they envy one another.

“You’re back!” Her face lit up as soon as she noticed my presence in the hospital room. “I was beginning to get worried, did you find your phone in the car?” she smiled.

She didn’t know that my phone was in my pocket the whole time and that I needed a moment to privately discuss any risk associated with this procedure with the doctor. I’ve heard about these cosmetic procedures leading to complications and I was concerned that she was doing this for the wrong reason.

“You know I love you more than anything in this world babe,” The longer she stared into my eyes, the higher her nose and forehead scrunched up as she has already lost the appetite for the beauty she sees in the mirror every morning when she woke up.

“I know,” she responded. She was fiddling with the corner of her medical gown in hopes of finding visuals that represent her, slowly conforming to the toxic uniformity that has become the face of beauty in our society.

I held her soft hands toward my lips, “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t want you to change anything about your appearance,” The warmth of her hands immediately dissipated as soon as those words slipped out of my mouth. She attempted to say something as she slipped her fingers from my possession, but instead, she averted her gaze. I know it was selfish of me to say those words in just minutes leading up to her surgery, but I couldn’t stop myself. How could she not realize that these artificial standards damage the security that surrounds the beauty in her imperfection? The constant comparison of her features made her feel insecure in a society that feeds off the perception of beauty that can only be obtained through an artificial process.

To be continued....