Whenever You Start To Loathe Yourself

Everytime you start to loathe yourself, you should write a letter. When you hate your body, write a letter to Eve. She was the most beautiful woman ever. Everyone after her are simply versions. But isnt that extraorinary. You’re a version of perfection. The way your hips slowy curve out to your thighs. It’s like your body is writing in cursive. The way no matter how much you tried to starve yourself, your thighs still stand strong enough to be the line your hips scribed “beautiful” on. And your chest wont sit close enough to your neck because gravity is acting against it. But gravity is a force of nature. It goes along with the same nature that makes flowers bloom, and trees reach out their limbs for something more. That force of nature inspired something more than your chest. It inspired the garden of Eden that blossoms around everyone’s soul. It has flowers that make us beautiful, and trees that make us reach for something more. We gaurd this garden the same way Eve did. We gaurd it with a chest that connects to us in the same way that garden sings for. And if, after all this, you’re still pulling at your stomach, ask Eve why she ate the apple. It wasn’t because she was wishing her stomach away. We hold our desire in our stomach. Don’t ever desire less.