We think people can’t love us because we have wrinkles and fart in our sleep and eat too many cookies and cry too often and laugh like hyenas and get scared and yell things we don’t mean and say we’re going to exercise every day but don’t and hate movies everyone loves and forget to wash our hands after going to the bathroom and have dimples where we don’t want them and dated a lot or didn’t date much and have a nasal voice and look like hell in the morning and bloat easily and don’t make enough money and never “fulfilled our potential” and don’t understand how to fix cars and have adult acne and scars all over our body and soul and write long paragraphs that drive people crazy and one time ate just a block of cheese for dinner.
But if we can love trees like Japanese Magnolias with sweet, slippery-soft pink flowers that bloom for only a week (and sometimes a day or two if a late frost hits), and they are just boring and green and nothing to look at for the rest of the year, then don’t you think that somebody can love you?
Don’t you think that somebody can love you and not care about any of those things because they see the bloom of who you are?
Even those tiny glimpses into your deep, velvety beauty are enough to convince them.
(And maybe the somebody who can love you is you.)
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