Mela Lovemaker

One day I decided that I was beautiful, and so I carried out my life as if I was a beautiful girl. I wear colors that I really like, I wear makeup that makes me feel pretty, and it really helps. It doesn’t have anything to do with how the world perceives you. What matters is what you see. Your body is your temple, it’s your home, and you must decorate it.

And December’s here. If you’re reading this, whoever you are, I just want you to know and realize, that this is the twelfth month of yet another year and that your story is still going. As much as you might want to say otherwise for yourself, some things are true for all of us. There is still time for you to put things to where you want them to be. To seize the things you’ve been reaching out for. Still time for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time for you to be surprised and surprise. Be amused and amuse. Be excited and excite. Because, we are still going, you and I. We are stories still going.

When we’re talking about God, we’re talking about every single one of those moments—whether they’re Earth-shatteringly loud and large or infinitesimally small and whisper-like, mere slivers you inadvertently stumble upon— moments when you are convinced, even if you’ve been burned and let down and betrayed countless times— that cynicism does not have the last word, that life is not random or meaningless or empty, but that what you do and how you feel and what you say and where you go and what you make of this life you’ve been given matters.

Are you scared? Or are you not ready? There is a difference.

If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn’t care about us. Time doesn’t care about us. That’s why we have to care about each other.