Kissing the sky.

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Tattoos are beautiful. I remember loving them from a very young age. It signified to me that you have figured out what your life is all about. Only when you understand what you are, what you are capable of, how much you can harm others, how good can you be to someone who will never be useful to you, what you are all about can you get something as enduring as a tattoo.

‘Excuse me while I kiss the sky.’

The most beautiful line ever put to paper. Inspirational, happy, courageous – everything right with it. But I said people get a tattoo when they know what they are all about. It is like a sign that speaks of your journey. Ironically, this is not true of me. This is not who I am, but who I would like to be. The sky? I am in the lowest portal of hell right now. Oh no, make no mistake – I was given heaven and I threw it away. Threw it away as casually as you would toss off your socks after a tiring day at work – not realizing that you’d need them the next morning.

I want to be able to look into peoples’ eyes and not feel small. Be the sort of person people are proud to be with.

I want to love without restraints, without fear. As effortlessly as a small girl running in a park, without worrying about falling down; just feeling the wind running through her hair, setting her free.

I want to be able to look in the mirror without guilt, without feeling like I don’t belong here, among normal yet extraordinary people.

I want to be able to be pick up the pieces and move on; move on without expectations.

Most of all, I want to make people who love me feel like it’s worth it. I want it to be easy to love me, not an endless series of forgiven mistakes and broken trust patched together.

I am just a little girl who wants to go back to when she was alright, when she knew herself, when loving yourself was easy, when there was no possibility of lying to someone, when she looked at herself and knew she would change nothing about who she was, when she was not such a terrible person.

I know I don’t deserve it. I will just keep on trying, because I have no other option. There is only so much you can hate. When you know that this person you have become is the most legitimately hateable person you have ever come across, whether in reality or in fiction, and all you still get is acceptance and love, then you know that perhaps, maybe one day you’ll be worthy of all of this love.

And isn’t that what life’s all about? Doing, trying, moving on. There is probably a special place in hell reserved for people like me, but until I get there, I am going to try. Maybe I’ll never forgive myself, but I can try. To redeem what little is left. To make the most of second chances.

Most of all, I never want to let you down, ever again. To see the dead look in your eyes. To see you so unresponsive, so defeated.

Kissing the sky? Probably not. But I’ll try to look at the sun without squinting, for once.



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