My love is like a firework.
I see it in the darkest times, and it surprises me. Goes up, up, up, to the parts of me that I had never previously explored; it bursts into colour and although I have seen those colours before they seem more beautiful in the dark, and I find myself wishing I could hold onto that moment. And then it is gone.
They say that the only person it takes to love yourself is you, but we are such harsh critics, don't you agree? Because those fireworks only come once in a while and in between the darkness is so immense that I can hardly remember anything else; anything different. And yes, it takes darkness to appreciate light, but becoming accustomed to the darkness comes with a crushing sense of familiarity: I want to know what loving yourself means, even if only for a little while. These fleeting moments of confidence are tedious.
But then again, does anyone truly love themselves? I can't imagine looking in the mirror and being happy with what I see, and it seems to be that way for everyone else. Although I can't imagine why. These people I compare myself to - and, trust me, it's a lot of people - look undeniably pretty though my eyes. So why is it so hard for me to see myself that way? Why do I see myself as everything but pretty? I sometimes wonder if it'd be better to change perspective, to look at myself as someone else might look at me. Maybe they'd overlook the flaws I call myself out on every day. But how can you overlook something when it's the only thing I see?
The complexity of it all is mind-blowing. I suppose that's the point of complexity, really.
And it's not the media making me feel this way. Well, not really. Those people I see in magazines are so different to me that I find it hard to believe they actually exist - which is insulting, I know - but nevertheless, I feel immediately envious of how they look, whether I know them or not. So there's that, but there's more to it than just celebrities. It's the people around me that I compare myself to the most. The girls at school, even people on the street. They all make me want something I can't have; make me want to be someone I'm not. I don't blame them. Us humans are far too curious. Maybe if I stopped focusing on other people I'd be more generous towards myself. But we all know that isn't going to happen anytime soon.
And it's not that I want to be beautiful; not at all. There really is no other word to describe something beautiful, because that's all it is - it is beautiful simply for existing in the first place. (Look at it this way: The sky is beautiful because of the colours and the clouds and the horizon - which is exactly the same thing as saying the sky is beautiful because it is the sky). But being pretty is different. Being pretty is looking pretty, and that seems to apply to everyone but me. But what I find hard to believe is that every person I've ever seen, every person I've ever met, every person I've ever compared myself to without even being aware I'm comparing myself to them, is thinking the same thing. And that's something I just can't comprehend.
So for now I'll just keep hoping for a few more fireworks.