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  • I recall the first time I felt comfortable with my body. As a teenager, you start believing that day will never come – some people carry that fear on to adulthood. It's been 7 or 8 years now; I'm 21 and I still don't like my body all that much. Sometimes the things that bind us to the past aren't even things: they are sketches of feelings, vague insecurity, suggested fears, that sort of thing.

    You'll never feel completely safe within your body until you take a walk in the woods. It's there that you get this feeling of complete and sincere trust in yourself and your limited powers.

    Had someone said to me 8 years ago that I'd learn to like and even love myself, I would've laughed him off. Some ideas stick with you. Others get carried away by time, or the wind, or water.

    That day I strolled along the river, musing on birds (isn't it odd that I remember even that?), when I felt this tiny burst of happiness within me. This was as far as was going to get in terms of enjoying myself, my life and the world. It's ridiculous that when you try to put it in big words and try to turn into poetry things that already are, it comes off as pretentious. So I write carelessly.
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