Haizles, beckles, nickles, stiples—a void on the surface.
The clock was ticking, seasons had changed, clothes outgrown, and yet there she stood, bewildered by how much her life had stalled.
She looked at the world around her. Had studied everyone’s profession, celebrated their successes, and praised their milestones.
She swiped through every source of news, filling her mind with the life of the internet’s Tom, Dick, and Harry.
She wanted more, longed for something great.
Her scars, as she would often define by the reflection on the mirror, seemed too deep, her appearance insufficient, and her life incomplete.
The angels could have composed an unending hymn celebrating her journey of strength and resilience, yet she pushed her desire towards an unimaginable expectation, convinced it was the goal.
A glance at her would make you want to touch the pearl of her skin just to get a touch of what beauty feels like. She was the type you’d want to let people know through your socials that you know her, even if it was only a fleeting moment captured in a photo.
To write her story would guarantee you the bestselling author on the most phenomenal and outstanding plot of a life. Her character could have been the lead in a movie that would be hailed as a masterpiece.
Anyone looking from the outside would deem her perfect and complete. Yet beneath the surface, she only saw lack.
To what extent does she have to beat herself to reach her goal? And yet, how can she not see the power she holds?
This power does not come from possession of material things, No.
It lies in her simplicity, her selflessness and her ability to bring care and gentleness into the life of others. Her presence, her spirit, fills every room she enters, leaving traces of nostalgia in every life she crosses with.
She brings a smile even to the most serious of faces by the radiation of her beauty.
Where did this expectation come from? This need to be some unimaginable heroine in everyone’s story.
The paradox lies in her caring and being gentle with others, yet depriving herself of the same.
Which life is this, living like a ticking time bomb? In fact, her anxiety grows from the belief that she can never say no to putting others first, even though she desperately longs to. She yearns to break free from the web she has woven around herself.
Time is flying, as she has never taken any for herself.
Who told her she wasn’t enough?
Was it the photoshopped images on the internet? The gram photos posted only for likes that had nothing to do with the people’s reality?
I try to understand why she would do this to herself.
I look at her now and all I want to say is, ‘You are enough.’ The scars you see are invisible to others.
Take a pause. It has been far too long, letting yourself linger in stress, lost in fantasies of “one day.”
Inhale. Exhale. Be free. Live! Your time is now.
Beautiful!