Good Enough

You're beside me, humming along to some melancholic tune that seems to be stuck in my head too now. You look so peaceful. Your eyes are closed. And a gentle smile playing on your lips. You're beautiful, baby. Not in that stereotypical way, not with chiseled features and piercing eyes. But beautiful nonetheless. Your laughter is the most infectious sound I know. Your smile could melt glaciers. And your kindness is a beacon in the greyest of days.

I'm a mess. My hair is always a disaster. My nose is freckled and way too big. And don't even get me started on the gap between my teeth. I worry constantly about my weight. Does my voice always crack like that? It's about whether I'm interesting enough, funny enough, or *good enough* for you.

Then, you open your eyes and catch me staring. That smile widens, and you reach across the aisle. Your fingers are brushing against mine. You say I'm the most beautiful girl you've ever seen.

For so long, I've been trying to shrink myself. I thought that's what love was—finding someone who would fix all my perceived flaws. But you don't want me to change. You love the parts of me I've been desperately trying to hide.

You make me feel truly seen. Like a masterpiece that doesn't need to be polished. And for the first time in my life, I feel beautiful. Not in the way magazines tell me to be, but beautiful in my own messy, imperfect way.

You see it all, and you love it.

My chest feels so light, like a helium balloon on the verge of taking flight. All those hours spent scrutinizing my reflection suddenly felt so insignificant.

Maybe I can finally learn to love myself. Maybe I can finally stop trying to be someone I'm not and simply be me. Messy, imperfect, and wonderfully me.

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