One day, I’ll accidentally trip over my own feet, catch my reflection in the mirror and I’ll fall in love with myself.

One day, I’ll embarrassingly spill a latte on myself in the town’s favorite local coffee shop just like a cute, typical scene handpicked from a novel, and I’ll fall in love with myself.

One day, I’ll run into myself five years later, and I’ll fall in love with myself.

One day, I’ll write myself into a cliche scene where I am the one, the only one, my own dearest soulmate.

I can’t wait for it to happen, you know? I’m excited to describe to my friends what exactly would have happened. See, it would sound like this:

“It was Autumn, and the gentle cold wind brushed the small strands of my hair away from my eyes. My hands were still cold even under my mittens, my lips were grossly chapped, and I couldn’t focus on anything but how much I didn’t want to be there. I was still freezing under the layers I tucked myself under, but but but then I saw myself! A lone light shining through the blizzard. It was like all the layers of my icy exterior melted away, and I was engulfed in warmth for the first time. Love at first sight.”

The thought of it thrills me.

I can’t wait until I can convince myself that every mark on my skin isn’t a measure for how undesirable I am. When I can tell myself that every dot on my face isn’t some messy splatter, or a metaphor for all the errors in me but stars aligned in a constellation! Here’s the cassiopeia splayed across your cheeks, the orion’s belt resting on your forehead, the galaxy exists within you…

When I find beauty in my uneven, mismatched eyes, the odd slope of my nose, the white features on an Asian face but think of it as a beautiful collision of two worlds.

When I’m anxious, and I can only fixate on one thought, when I’m short of breath — I’ll be able to tell myself, that it’s okay, and it’s not my fault. I can’t wait until I can remind myself to exhale.

I won’t have to come up with excuses for myself. I won’t have to apologize to myself when I share too much, or share too little. I won’t have to worry about scaring people away when I’m vulnerable.

One day, I’m going to stop thinking that I am the result of all the people who didn’t love me.

I can’t wait until I run into my own arms and find home in myself. In this body, in this anxious and strange person. In this shaky, fidgety human.

I can’t wait until I’ll want myself: completely, unashamedly, willfully.

One day, I’m going to fall in love with myself.