"You're beautiful." He whispered.
"Stop. I couldn't take it anymore. I felt like a liar."
"Stop what?" He asked.
"Saying I'm beautiful."
"Why? It's the truth."
"It's not okay? You dont see me at the end of the day, you dont see me right when I get out of the shower. You dont see me trying on every outfit, you dont see how gross I look most of the day. You dont see what I see when I look in the mirror, so dont you dare say I'm beatiful. Because I'm not."
He shook his head, almost laughing.
"You dont get it, dont you? You think you know what you look like, but you have no idea. You're right, I dont see you the way you see you, but you also dont see you the way I see you. You dont see you laughing, or telling a story, you dont see the way your eyes light up when you talk all those books you love. I like to look at you when you pretend to know the words to a song you never heard. You dont see yourself asleep in my arms, or the way you look right when you wake up. But I do, and thats why I have every right to call you beautiful."
And so they said that it doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up and silent with chests rising and falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing. You don’t see yourself looking at someone with love and care inside your heart. There’s no mirror in your way when you’re laughing and smiling and happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you saw yourself in the moments where you are truly yourself.
I think maybe that was right.
I think I've found that person who looks at me like maybe I am magic.