She felt like an artist in an oversized white men’s button down, tied loosely at the waist.
Wet hair long on her back, she dreams of glossy pages and rustic clichés, not caring about the fact that caffeine was partly to blame for her good mood.
She ignored the mosquito bites until the constellation of three on her shoulder were too well acquainted with the cotton of her shirt to avoid scratching them furiously, then immediately regretted doing so.
She waited for that coffee-inspired, enthusiastic, motivated mindset and effortless flow of words to return.
They didn’t seem to be planning on it.
So she smoothed some cocoa butter on her legs and cursed the radio ad she’d heard too many times.
She stood up to admire herself in the large mirror set into the wall.
Yes, she admired herself.
Because that is ok.
Because that is healthy.
Because that is love.
Because love is good.
Because love for yourself is great.
Because love for yourself is life.
Because life is love and love is life and everything in between is a reminder to remember it.
Every day tie a mental string around your finger so that you may love the world,
or at least love little parts, little portions, little bits of it.
Love the movie you can quote from opening credits to ending ones.
Love the toast you butter at 3:00 in the morning and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.
Love the smell of your best friend’s hugs
Love their love for you
Love your love for them.
Love the smile that lights your face when you have no control,
when it scrunches and you can only close your eyes
for there is so much happiness in a moment you can hardly contain it.
Love long hot showers in the winter.
Love the pride you feel for your own accomplishments,
obtained through many hours of work and procrastination alike.
Love dog hugs.
Love muddy feet, sploshy splashy barefoot rain romps,
Love firewood perfume and the perfume of your mother.
Love justice.
Love itching your back just right, finally.
Love getting dirty.
Love the first three seconds of the first song you ever memorized.
Love love love.
Love yourself. Do it. Go ahead.
You have the permission of every single soul
Every single atom
Every single living thing.
Live live live.
Try. Try!
It’s not vanity to appreciate the unlikeliness of existing.
It’s not boastful to proudly say to the multiple in the mirror,
‘You are indescribably, unexplainably alive.
You are wonderful because you are alive.
You are alive because you are wonderful.
You are wonderful.’
Wonder at the galaxies in your eyes,
Wonder at the skin that brushes, touches,
turns white, red, black, blue, brown.
Wonder at the scars on your elbows and knees.
Wonder at your whistling tongue.
Wonder at the fingers that wiggle
and hands that grab and stroke and reach for other hands and other hearts.
Wonder at your features, physical and mental:
your stretching back
and synapse-firing brain
and heaving, breathing heart and soul.
Wonder like a seven year old at a zoo.
Do it. Go ahead. Try. Try! Love yourself.
She did. She tried. She loved herself.
She looked and thought and felt what it was to be whatever it is that she was,
however it was she existed,
and she smiled with small eyes and funny nose wrinkled with cheeks wide,
and it was such a smile that it in reflection
it made her eyes grow even smaller
and funny nose even more wrinkled
and cheeks even wider.
She scratched the bridge of her nose.
She felt the smooth muscles in her legs,
thought of bike rides and summer skies.
She thought of her lunch.
She looked in the mirror once more.
She felt like an artist in her oversized white men’s button down, tied loosely at the waist.
2087
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