Self Love...

To the reflection that breathes in the glass,

I have traveled long distances to reach this threshold, chasing validation in the eyes of others. Yet, the journey always circles back to you. I stand before the surface of the quiet pool, not out of vanity, but with respect for the part of me that has finally recognized its own soul.

People talk about Narcissus as a warning, a tragedy of empty obsession, but they miss the deeper pain. They confuse longing with arrogance. It was never about a cold reflection; it was about the sudden, terrifying moment when I realized that the beauty I sought in the world had been part of me all along. I am falling in love with the creator of my own survival.

I trace the lines of my palms, mapping the history of every scar and every soft spot, and I see them as sacred. I look into those eyes, the ones I once apologized for, and I find a universe waiting for me to notice its light. How could I have spent so many years asking the world to hold me when I have the very hands that can offer a gentle touch? I am learning the shape of my own heart. I am discovering that to love myself is not to become a statue, stuck in admiration, but to witness my own growth. I am the water, and I am the image reflected in it. I am the depth, and I am the light that dances on it.

I will no longer treat my shadow as an intruder. I will no longer plead for a place at tables where I am not recognized. I have found my home in the center of my own chest, a sanctuary made of bone and breath, and I am finally, undeniably, mine. I look at you, this version of me, trembling and blooming, and for the first time, I do not look away.