She often imagined herself writing love letters and posting them by mail. She envisioned herself writing with beautiful metaphors and similes that would describe the way he simply moved his fingers when they were entangled with her own. But her writing was never as good as she had imagined and perhaps the fact that she lacked 'him'. She wanted to spill her feelings onto a page, her dreams and emotions. But she has no muse. She had no boy to describe. She listened to endless amounts of love songs. She wanted to be able to express her love like famous artists did so in their songs. But she couldn't. And for some reason that made everything harder for her.
She always knew a woman didn't need a man.
But she always knew she wanted one.
♡
I realized that the only time we ever see ourselves is in mirrors and photographs.
You do not see the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you're passionate about.
You do not see the way your face contours with emotion when you read a book you love.
You do not see the hope that shines from your face when you see a butterfly float by.
You cannot see the emotion that you try to hold back when you notice something heartbreaking.
You cannot see the way you sleep, with your chest rising in its own rhythm and a tinysmile hiding on your face.
You will never see the way you look in real life, when your walls are down and you aren't posing for the camera or mirror.
But I do, and it is absolutely beautiful.
