I look at you, so beautiful, in the afternoon sunlight, and I realise your flaws. You have the same soft face that makes me loathe myself and cut most of it out of pictures together. You have the acne that makes me groan when I look in the mirror. We share so many traits that I hate about myself, and yet I rarely notice them on you. To me, you’re perfect, and your smile makes me warm. Suddenly I understand why you might not secretly hate me as much as I think. Maybe, like me, you don’t notice, and when you do, you find it beautiful, in that soft and utterly real, grounding way.
Either way, I can no longer criticise those features on myself without also, albeit inadvertently, criticising them on you, which i would never do.
The way I love you makes me able to hate myself a little less. And oh, how I love you.
I only want you to see yourself the way I see you. You are perfect and human and your smile makes my day. Your hair is curly and perfect: wet, dry or frizzy. Your voice brings me endless joy and I will forever thank the universe you got off your bike to talk to me one random afternoon.
I may never be able to love you romantically, but the love I feel for you is so much deeper and real than I ever imagine romantic love to feel.
You are my best friend and the love of my life and I will forever be grateful that you’ve put up with me and my flaws for long enough for us to get to this point.











































