"i wish i was born in the 90s" says the young girl. suddenly, her surroundings change- french flags fly above and around her, crowds are cheering. it is france, 1793. the king is dead. long live the revolution.
It doesn't make sense to call ourselves ugly because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up and silent, with chests rising and falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing, desperately turning the page. You don’t see yourself looking at someone, with care frantically colliding in your chest, your heart that skips a beat, your lips that creep into a smile that cannot be broken.
There’s no mirror in your way, when you’re laughing and smiling, and happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you see yourself in the moments where you truly are beautiful.