self-love. It’s complicated. I’m still a little lost on it because until now, I wasn’t sure how to label these subtle insecurities. Insecurities that aren’t very subtle at all. They just seem so indescribable; so intangible.
Perhaps you’ve felt it before, or maybe you haven’t.
wearing: Flora Nikrooz Showstopper Chemise
I blamed myself for lacking self-love. I thought I had ruined my chances of finding it because I didn’t give myself the time to be properly alone. I ended something sweet and began something new. And the transition felt easier than it should have. Until it didn’t.
I felt guilty of sharing things, the most mundane things, with someone else. I couldn’t seem to talk about anything remotely personal. I tried. Believe me, I tried. My thoughts were laid out in front of me but my mind drifted into wordlessness. It felt strange; daunting. The feeling of being entirely comfortable with this person seemed unfathomable.
I wondered if maybe I lacked stability, or maybe I was just a bit heartless.
And it’s strange because I feel emotionally, physically, and sexually attached to this guy, genuinely. I’m undeniably happy. And I’ve fallen in love with all the perfect bits of imperfection that came — as it does with every relationship. The imperfections. The way we argue. The way he looks at me when I’m upset. The infuriating way we interpret our words so differently. The moment we kiss after a long, dreary day. The incomprehensible way of why at the end of the day, we can’t take our hands off each other.
Time and time again I lose sight of it because I become obsessed with my thoughts and insecurities. Why? I thought it through, endlessly. When I ended my last relationship, I swore I’d put myself first, I’d do the things that made me feel empowered; limitless; selfish. And maybe that’s what I’ll do, with him by my side (or behind the camera)