i do believe on some level that real love is ugly. i think we’ve convinced ourselves otherwise by ingesting highly filtered staged moments of other people’s relationships and telling ourselves that maybe we are too ugly for love. but real love — it’s waking up in the dead of morning with dried drool on your face, it’s bleeding in a bed that isn’t yours, it’s having a panic attack in the park and not knowing how to verbalize what you’re feeling, it’s not shaving + not apologizing, it’s crying because you need something you cannot name + much more — all while being held.
























