I'll also want Rashid

I wonder how much people waste their mind on me. Do they argue with me a lot? Am I on their mind because they need to protect me? Do they romanticize me because they saw my smile and now can't get it out of their head?

Do they welcome me as a guest? Or do I make their life a living hell? Am I merely a nuisance or a passing trend?

Why do I? Why do I want to know so much? Does the attention make me feel worthy? Or would it finally prove me that I'm loveable?

And what happens when I realize I am graceful, joyful, pretty. That my eyes gives comfort to any who converse with me. That my hair is sewn from golden brown lines that span a dying sunset. That my laugh is funny and comforting.

That I can and have been loved. Will I get up and do something then? Will that fix me? I don't know.

Or maybe, then I'll realize, I don't need to do anything. And I have nothing to fix. That all my flaws make me who I am, and to love me means to love them. Predicative logic says that if I am loved and loving me means to love my flaws, my flaws are loved.

Perhaps then I'll also start loving my flaws. I'll love the fact that sometimes I'll lay there being absent for the sake of not doing anything. I'll love that I lose my cool in an instant if I'm talking to someone I like or admire. Or anyone really. I'll love that I can't throw a punch for the life of me, and any punch I throw makes me land on my face, physically and metaphorically. I'll start loving how I overthink everything. I'll start loving how gullible I am, and how all it takes to manipulate me is just to try. I'll love how my nose is crooked entirely because of me, or how I barely ate anything for months and now I am skinny fat. I'll love the fact that I cannot commit to s**t, and that -UGH- I'm so damn lazy. I'll love the fact that I am always a b***h about my dad, and an a*****e to people around me in my head. I'll love how I cannot let go of people in my head even though I know all I do is hurt myself. I'll love how I'm hyper-impulsive and make terrible choices.

Not because any of those things are loveable, but because without them I'm not myself. I'm not Rashid. And people need Rashid. They want Rashid.

And with that, maybe, I'll also want Rashid