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Twirled in my jeans.

I am beautiful.
A really hard sentence to accept.
When the night is long and peaceful, when I can hear the train, clickety-clacking its way through the rail, I believe that I am beautiful. A 3-year-old picture in my snap memories made me realize that I have been beautiful for a very long time. The adoring looks people gave me that I misunderstood made me wonder how exactly they felt looking at me being me. I politely deny and barely acknowledge the word beautiful just because I choose to think that I ain't beautiful. Today, It just took me a second to think that I am beautiful. I remember the days I covered my face when my best friend tried to click my pictures. I remember the days when I twirled in my jeans. (Yeah material girl). I remember me wearing the white and blue satin frock and my mom called me pretty. I remember the look on my father's face every damn time I try on a new dress. I remember the day I wore a saree at my sister's wedding. I've been beautiful then and I am beautiful now. I've been trying to love myself the wrong way and ended up dreading the word beautiful. It is not hard. It's not complicated. It's just that metaphorically speaking...
I released a breath I was holding for years.

Comments

  1. .March 5, 2022 at 8:40 AM

    And here I conclude that you are beautiful not only when twirled but every time
    I mean look at the soul.

    ReplyDelete

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