I’m not sure what love is, but I think it’s hearing her say, “You’re an asshole,” while her smile betrays the words that just came out of her mouth. It’s getting a FaceTime call at eight in the morning so she can show you her outfit, because she thinks she looks really cute that day. I think love is blurting out exactly how you feel about her when she asks you why you’re looking at her “like that.” It’s unplanned and sloppy, the exact opposite of how you wanted it to happen; but the smile on her face tells you that it was perfect in its own way. Love is being afraid to let her know about certain parts of yourself, but telling her anyways. It’s making breakfast with her in the morning, dancing with her despite your two left feet, and passionately singing the wrong lyrics just to hear her laugh. I’m not sure what love is, but it just might be magic.

I’m learning to love my body for being the agent of my soul. I’m learning to honor it because of who created it. I’m learning this is less about what my body looks like and more about perspective, which is a choice and I know it’s not an easy one because none of us are exempt from the pressure to conform to society’s idea of beauty. But I’m learning to not hold myself to a standard that only magnifies insecurity and sharpens vanity. I’m learning how to stop living in captivity to the opinions of other.

She talks about you like you put the stars in the sky

Flowers grow back, even after they are stepped on. 

Sex is not dirty. It’s normal. Even when it’s dirty.

You have to be odd to be number one.