It's not my responsibility to be beautiful. I'm not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.

Why do you live in your body like you will be given another? As if it were temporary. You starve it, you let anyone touch it, you berate it. Tell it that it should be completely different. You tug at your soft flesh, wish it thinner, wish it gone. You fall in love with those who praise the way it sighs under their hands, but who praises the way it holds up your weight, even when you are falling apart?

It's not my responsibility to be beautiful. I'm not alive for that purpose. My existence is not about how desirable you find me.

Document the moments you feel most in love with yourself - what you're wearing, who you're around, what you're doing. Recreate and repeat.

We took such care of tomorrow, but died on the way there.

My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.

The ego hurts you like this: you become obsessed with the one person who does not love you. blind to the rest who do.