Maybe, of all the characteristics and descriptions of the world, I want something that reflects my spirit, my heart, my tenacity and lust for life.
I am not the girl you get to hold for a moment, then let go of. The girl whose worth is determined by the eagerness of your hands.
I don’t love you yet. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Because every time I look into your eyes, I know you’re right where I am—falling fearlessly, one kiss, one laugh, one moment at a time.
Someone’s perception of you is not your identity.
It us up to us, as women, to learn the power of our voices, the strength of our skin, the value of coming together in protest—maybe not in silence, but, simply in solidarity—affirming that our presence matters. Our presence deserves to be heard.
Because just like the seasons, we fall, we grow, we tumble, we change, we begin again.
You are a wild and beautiful thing.
You must always remember
the difference between being loved