I met a woman once, one that I observed had the most intriguing eyes. One was painted with faded ash, decadent and inky like the black ash which spouts from a volcanic shadow, while the other was chiselled from deep blue obsidian that threatened to swallow me whole. I concluded that to me, the pair seemed like the sky on a night perfect for stargazing, desperate to represent the depth of the atmosphere as it transforms over time, the black abyss on one side and the streaks of blue on the other to level the sky we watched so often. It did make me wonder if this was what the goddess of the sky would look like, had she ever existed. As the light hit them, I saw, they'd illuminate, gleaming flecks of an almost silver haze appearing like stars, and as the woman spoke about them, they lit further with a certain passion that could never quite be appreciated enough. She was aware of the beauty of them, and it was clear - I listened to her talk about them for hours, and each word left me anticipating the next.
As it happens, I've never enjoyed the description of physical features in excerpts, because I always thought that it inferred they mattered more than inside value. However, upon seeing the said woman and her astonishing heterochromia, my opinion developed. For eyes, you can see so much in. They are called the windows to the soul, yes? I never realised how truly accurate that statement could be until I looked into the eyes that contained the sky but never asked to be over-validated. The woman told me that some people reacted to her oddly due to it, and I replied that they simply must have been too enamoured with how striking the shades were to be able to see or think of anything else.
Often, I meet people who are hard on themselves, who do not see how wonderful they are, whether it be internally or externally. I always ask them why they think that, and sometimes, they feel comfortable enough to trust me with it. I find the answers range from societal norms to bullies, and even sometimes to their own opinions (which usually still stem from the fundamental beliefs of others), and each time I am stunned nonetheless. I cannot comprehend how anyone cannot think they are, or anyone else is, anything less than extraordinary, and to those who simply cannot see themselves as beautiful no matter what assurance they get from others or themselves, I ask one more question.
If you wouldn't say the things you say to yourself to someone you love, why would you say them at all?
To put yourself down for things out of (and sometimes even in) your control is absurd, so, the first reason of seven in this book that I will say can help you closer to finding a sense of peace in your existence, is this;
1; treat yourself with the respect and admiration that you deserve, and you're one step closer to happiness.
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THE MUSINGS OF A WRITING MIND
General FictionSEVEN REASONS TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOURSELF, YOUR WORLD, AND THE IDEA OF BEING HAPPY.
