Flash.

There’s this idea that always stays with me. Always, it works away in the back of my mind, not coming to conscious thought until just the right time, like illumination on the bad guy’s face in Hollywood. The idea is the question of what a person is. Do you define a person by their thoughts? Or do their actions tell you who they are? My stock answer is always affirmative to the former, which leads to the latter, but now, today, here I think differently.

I’m never satisfied with myself. I see myself as a constant emotional wreck, a waste of talent, an unpredictable, unreliable mammal. I catch myself lie for respect or credibility and hate myself for it every time, because it is unnecessary but invariably the shortest path to a given destination. If I am defined by my thoughts I am a sorry sort indeed, and not worth the paper I’m printed on.

But to you I am reliable, I am beautiful, I am thoughtful and kind, I am virtuous. But to you I am good.

From your lips, and from my eyes, I have seen affirmation of my new faith. I live to be the person that I am, in spite of the person that I am. And you should see what I see in you.