All the time. Well, that’s an exaggeration. But when it hits, it’s a feeling of returning. Like it’s the only thing that I’ve ever felt and I haven’t realised.
Maybe it’s not my divine right to be happy with myself. To be in giddy-in-love with the way my belly folds.
Today I was thinking maybe I should just settle, accept that this is what I’ve got and who I am, go on with my life and pretend that I don’t mind that this is what I’m stuck with.
Is that what other people do?
Or do I really have a divine right to like what I am so sick of?
Me.
