I may love myself

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 I saw myself dancing after a long time. I saw my reflection in the curtains. The light from the drawing room fell at an angle, piercing the darkness of the dining area. The silhouette clearly appeared across the curtain, across from me, to see how happy I seemed. I was happy because my shadow looked happy. I was fascinated by how happy I was. The alliteration of happiness was building up inside me, mostly because I am yearning to yell out the reason behind this. 

I have a beautiful body. Do you know who said this to me? I am beautiful, do you know who said that? It is only now that I know I am beautiful. I am so beautiful, I blush at the sight. My hair is puckered into a messy bun, they would say. But that is the only way my hands know to keep my hair tied. My hands are messy, unskilled, but they only add to my beauty. The chaos everywhere foments me.  I was swaying to romantic French music. I don't know what is that called. It played in the background on my phone, on a random reel. I was so engrossed that I forgot to find the details. But I know for sure if I ever come across it, I would be reminded of today. I would be reminded of how my feet flitted while my thighs swerved, and the rayon pyjamas flowed with my movements. I raised my hand to cover my face from the right to remind myself how it feels when he embraces me. I look like Divinity, truly someone to fall in love with. The silhouette had sharp features, beautiful, reminding me that I was never ugly. My arms made big circles. To show how much happiness I was capable of holding. Certainly enough to hold him for life. 

And then came the blush, over my face. It was I. It was I who was full of deficiencies: a split bode, a wrecked head, a torn soul, which was so beautiful and so happy. 

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