his star

𝐗𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐀𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

I feel pretty.

That's a sentence I have never heard, never seen anyone write down. People don't use those words often, at least the ones I know don't. It's a shame because why not say this one short sentence when you have nothing to lose anyway?

Three small words, rolling over ones tongue and maybe sounding weird to their own ears. It won't take long, two seconds at the most so no time of life can be waisted.

No one will die just because of this statement, so why not be brave and just let them roll over your tongue?

So many people have parts of their body they love the most or maybe hate the least, so many different ways of writing the single letters down, but yet it's like this sentence is unwritable, unspeakable.

I think people are embarrassed to admit their own thoughts even though they shouldn't because after all, it's not a crime to love yourself even if it is for just a small moment. It's not forbidden to acknowledge yourself after not recognizing your own appearance for so long.

Being pretty is so much more than the looks of someone, so much more than the picture of yourself everyone else sees the first time they cross path with you.

In my eyes, everyone is at least a bit pretty. It can be the eyes that are shining so bright that everything around that person seems to disappear, directing the focus only onto the organs of the visual system. It can be the way someone is looking at something as if that person has just spotted the most amazing object to ever exist even though I haven't thought it to be interesting in the first place.

The word pretty doesn't have a definition and if one book says it does, than I just cross it out. I don't want to hear or see what I don't believe, don't want to try and persuade myself to think what others presume is right.

‚Something pleasing to the eye is considered as pretty.'

One definition and to be honest, it doesn't sound that wrong.

But it is.

It is wrong because right now, I can't see myself. My eyes don't have access to my face, they can't look at themselves through a mirror because I don't have one with me. According to this simple sentence, this seemingly right definition, I couldn't be considered as pretty because my eyes don't have the chance to look at myself.

Nevertheless, I feel pretty because he is the mirror through which I see myself without actually taking a look.

I don't need to say it out loud, thinking it is good enough - more than that actually.

My feet start moving, dress dancing around my body when the soft breeze comes in contact with my body. The leaves on the trees are barely moving, but it appears to me as if I will get blown away any second now.

It's not the wind's fault, I realize. It's the blonde-haired boy who is staring at me with such a strong gaze that I feel like I'm almost getting stunned, thrown back and moving into the direction the wind is blowing softly.

He is standing up from the bench he was sitting on, taking a few steps closer until there is almost nothing left between us.

My body gets scanned by him, noticing how a smile is decorating his face and the more he seems to lighten up, the more self conscious I feel. He is telling me that I'm pretty without saying it and only knowing this small part of his thoughts is giving me more than anyone has ever given me.

I always knew that I'm not ugly, that I have certain things others wish to have, but honestly, I've never really appreciated them in the way I should have.