I have always liked my people a bit damaged. A bit rough around the edges. A bit difficult to stereotype. A bit stranger than the normal crowd. I like people whose eyes tell stories and whose smiles have fought through wars. I like people who look for the beauty in strange places. If you’re perfect, chances are, we aren’t going to get on. If you’re one of the cool kids, chances are, you won’t like me. If you love cliques and groups, I’m probably going to stand for everything you have come to hate. If you want to fit me into a little box you have made for me, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am never ever going to fit in and you may as well stop trying.
You see, what I want is authentic. What I want to see is your purity, I want to see the way you wear your scars, I want to see how brave you are with your vulnerability, how emotionally naked do you let the world see you. How honest are you really with the things that tear you apart? How often do you talk to your demons and sing them to sleep every night even though you wake up exhausted in the morning? What is your story, your real story? Tell me about the things that hurt, that cause you pain. I want to know how your day was really, even the small things you think too petty to mention. Give me a real conversation one with feelings and heartbreak and passion, not a superficial one about the weather any day.
The truth is, everything about you may not be incredible. And everything about you may not be something everybody loves. But whilst your damage may not be beautiful, it has made you exquisite. It makes you original, different – and one of the kind of people I truly admire because people like you are the most incredible things about this world.