I don’t think so. But, I forgive you, girl, who tallied stretch marks into reasons why no one should get close. I forgive you, silly girl, sweet breath, decent by default. I forgive you for being afraid. Did everything betray you? Even the rain you love so much made rust out of your jewelry? I forgive you, soft spoken girl speaking with fake brash voice, fooling no one. I see you, tender even on your hardest days. I forgive you, waiting for him to call; I forgive you, the diets and the cruel friends. Especially for that one time you said ‘I fucking give up on love, it’s not worth it, and I’d rather be alone forever’. You were just pretending, weren’t you? I know you didn’t mean that. Your body, your mouth, your heart, made specifically for loving. Sometimes the things we love will kill us, but weren’t we dying anyway? I forgive you for being something that will eventually die. Perishable goods, fading out slowly, little human, I wouldn’t want to be in a world where you don’t exist.

Warsan Shire, “Love Letter to Self“