You called me ugly. But I beg to differ.
I feel beautiful.
I feel just like drunken sky, bathed in hues of yellow and blue and white, spread all over your heads, a tantalizing display of colours never seen and designs never imagined.
You called me shallow.
But I feel layered.
I feel like taste of your favourite dessert: chocolate truffle, the slightly bitter taste of chocolate oozing down to a softer, sweeter and mellower palate, both sweet and bitter serenading a taste so perfectly wonderful as if you’ve just had a culinary orgasm.
You called me confused.
But I feel precise.
I feel like the quiet and composed calm that you experience before the storm hits, that one moment of tranquillity and peace that you might never experience again, the one moment of perfect clarity when I know that no matter what the stakes, you’ll never be more content with life.
You called me monotonous.
But I feel unique.
I feel like the swaying leaf in the last nocturnal hour, the moon light shining just for me, and a thousand others, but only just for me, engulfing me in an aura so holy that my spirit is pure, its divine.
The world called me replaceable.
But honey, that’s what I’m not. I’m one of a kind, and that is enough.