There’s something so pure about crying in the shower. For a moment, you’re able to trick yourself into believing that the water on your face did not come from your eyes and the salt that you taste on your lips did not come from your tears.
dear eyes, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for thinking that the deep brown curious hue of your essence was every anything less than magical. i’m sorry that my entire life your every cell has worked to let me see the beauty in the world, and all I’ve ever done is put you down. and they say that you never know how beautiful brown eyes are until you’ve loved someone who has them, but I should’ve loved myself first. and for that I am sorry.
dear hair, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for every time I resented the way you refuse to stay put, for believing that the best way to love you was to tame you. i’m sorry for every time I drew hatred from your tangled tendencies, for every time I wanted to chop you down with an axe simply so that you were out of the way. you are the part of me that dances in the wind, the part of me that grows fiercely and unapologetically. and they say that if you love something you should leave it wild. i’m sorry for not leaving you wild.
dear breasts, i’m sorry. i’m sorry because you and I have fought a long, hard battle to get to where we are today. i’m sorry for all the times I wished you were bigger, smaller, less saggy, more perky, more even, less loud. you are the very essence of my womanhood, something that is fierce and tender and strong and brave and everything I take pride in. i’m so sorry I ever treated you like anything less.
dear shoulders, i’m sorry. i’m sorry that I hid you behind long sleeves and shame for all these years. i’m sorry that something as small and insignificant as acne could make me forget your worth. i’m sorry for every time i stood with you hunched over instead of standing tall with pride, because the scars that you carry are constellations, and you are as big and ethereal as the sky.
dear thighs, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for believing that you carried too much weight, that you were ever too large to be beautiful or sexy or wanted. you are a mountain landscape, protecting the valley inside with all your might and standing strong in the face of hurricanes. you are so much more than I ever gave you credit for, and I should have wanted you all along.
dear feet, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for thinking you are anything less than resilient. you have carried me to every point in my life, every up and down. you have picked me up from every failure and the depths of hell itself. you have never given up, even when I thought that I might. you have stepped on glass and walked through fire to get me to where I am today, and I am forever grateful.
dear tummy, I am so, so sorry. i am sorry and ashamed for all the nights I cried myself to sleep because I thought you were not good enough, I am sorry for every time I compared you, beat you down, sucked you in, tried to hide you. I am sorry for every single time I even considered starving you. you are where I felt the butterflies of my first love. you expand when my voice needs to be heard. you are the powerhouse that keeps me going, and I have treated you so, so, cruelly. i’m sorry.
dear voice, i am sorry. i am sorry for all the times I let myself buy into the preconceived notion that you are not worth listening to. i am sorry for every time i silenced you instead of letting you speak. i am sorry for not singing more, speaking louder, yelling, screaming. I am sorry that I ever thought I needed to hide you under my curtain of my fear of not being accepted. you are powerful, and brave, and worth listening to. you do not deserve to be caged, and I am sorry.
dear body, i am sorry. your every cell, every second of every minute of every day goes into keeping me alive. you have loved me so well and so deeply, and I have been so blind to your worth.
There are some people who, when they come knocking on our door, the sound of their footsteps is so familiar to us, it is almost instinctual how we open the front door, realising only after looking at them face to face, why the had to knock in the first place.
i look at you and i think you’re tired – your tongue is lifeless and i can’t live like this. you can’t give me what i need because you’ve already given it to someone else: all the love, all the tender words with sweet centers, all the kisses that didn’t reek of regret. i am left with the scraps of a love gone dry.
I am usually a quiet person, but can also be quite a talker to people I am close with. I love to tell stories, but when I stop talking, I’m closing myself to you. When I spill my thoughts and emotions, it is because I deem you worthy of them, that you’d listen and understand. I was wrong, so I’ll start saying more often that ‘I’m okay’ when you ask if I am, not because I want to fake my feelings, but I just don’t feel the need to explain them to you anymore; I’ll read more books or watch more shows that I love because I have no more stories to tell you; I’ll shut my mouth more because, really, I don’t know what to say to you anymore. I will try to stay, but as my words, surely I will also start fleeting away.