They say I’m broken. That I’m sad. As if a meteor full of melancholy hit me one night, and from then on, I’m just a cloud of darkness. They say, my metaphors are always in reference to a lost love or in search of a new one as if, I’ve never loved myself enough to walk away from the same things.
If there’s any purest form of love that exists, it’s within me. It’s within you. Not just in the all-so-pretty parts. But also, in those parts wherein the whispers of other’s judgments get too easily, but the voice in your head, seldom makes it there.
It’s a long, frustrating and an exhausting journey, but it’s one road that makes you want to leave all the fortunes of the world to treasure the one inside of you.
Your worth isn’t measured against the weight of your body or the lack of it. It isn’t measured on a scale that tells you what beauty should look like. It isn’t measured against the number of people you’ve loved and lost. It can’t be measured. It shouldn’t be.
If there’s the greatest gift you can give, it is the ability to give your uncensored self to yourself and to others. The one that empowers the meaning of life, its purpose but most importantly, you. The one that’s strong enough to sustain the remarks, the hostility, the prejudices, all of it, and turns your somber graveyard into a thriving garden.
Till then, don’t make autumn look like spring, only because they love your flowers. Let everyone see you detaching, withering and falling. And then ask them, if they still love you? If they don’t, at least you will. And believe me, that’s enough.
Written by: Aayushi Pandya
Illustration by: @monicaloya