Our Little Insecurities Are The Biggest Lies We Believe

Why is it so hard for us to realize our own perfection? Why is it easier for me to see the perfection in others while mine remains cast behind drawn blinds?
Why is it so hard for us to realize our own perfection? Why is it easier for me to see the perfection in others while mine remains cast behind drawn blinds?
Love is like realising you’ve been singing that same song over and over again. Love is like recognising you’re annoying but humming the tune regardless of the people staring at you.