I am tired of the words “I love you,” of “beauty,” of “romance.”
They are putting in a neatly-wrapped package a million squirming feelings,
only some of which the world would consider appropriate.
We all approve of “I love you,” but do we approve of the disgusting things
that love sometimes makes us do?
Do we approve of the fights, of the tears, of the noises when bodies squish together,
the aching thoughts of wanting to possess someone entirely?
Surely these things mean “love” more than most,
yet they imply love for parts of us that we are supposed to constantly be telling to quiet down.
Don’t quiet yours down.
Show me your ugly, and I will show you mine.
And nothing will ever be an unpleasant surprise again,
because we will have known (in a way most people do not)
that the other was a real human being all along.
Chelsea Fagan, Show Me Your Ugly
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