'but what if it's something that we hate about ourselves?' you asked me.
and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
could this be what life is about: searching for someone who will accept those things about us that we try to push out, numb, or forget, because it hurts to acknowledge their existence, hoping that someone's acceptance of our vulnerabilities will make it easier for us to live with ourselves?
There are things that I can't do, but wish I could, like smile and be happy and talk when my chest seems to be tightening in knots at odd moments. Even when you're trying to draw me out, when you ask me about my day.
It would be ok, if I could just stop and let my face smile the way it does when I'm sad and there's no one to see, and hug you. I think that even though I hate my moments when all my words are sucked out, it would be ok if I could do that.
so, long long story short, it's alright, it's just part of being alive to have 'something that we hate about ourselves'. I don't think it's blasphemous to accept that that's completely…acceptable. contrary to widespread belief, we're not supposed to shave off the edges and carve in the minute details perfectly, or cover ourselves in flawless coats of paint, varnish, ending with a perfect finish - that's not the goal of life.
I'm not against self-improvement, it's the pursuit of a perfect existence that I - well, I demur.