a history of love by nicole krauss

part of you thought:
please don't look at me.
if you don't, i can still turn away,
ride off on my bicycle,
kick a stone,
remain uncomplicated.

and part of you thought:
look at me.

i read this in high school and have never found better words to describe the war that wages inside my maze of contradictions. i wasn’t made for this black and white world.

this was the last snapshot on my latest roll, hastily taken at the end of a long day and just before dropping off the film for development. i very rarely ever see myself in film, and it feels almost confrontational to look at this portrait of a girl with smudged make up and messy hair and recognize that it's me.

i've been getting better at accepting the way i look. i think my favorite thing about myself is the plethora of tiny moles speckled across my face because they remind me of constellations scattered across the night sky and sometimes i think, ah, if i could just trace these invisible lines, maybe then we'll uncover the map of who i am and, maybe, at last, i'll be seen.