Your eyes

Your eyes are beautiful for the way they observe the world around you. For the way they go soft when you look at someone you love, and sharp when something catches your curiosity. For the way they fill up before you cry, that brief moment where everything goes glassy and honest. For the way they find the one person you know in a crowded room.

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Your lips are beautiful for the way they curve when you smile at your best friend. For the way they press together when you’re trying not to laugh. For the way they part slightly when you’re reading something that surprises you. For every word they have ever shaped, every song they have ever half-remembered wrong, every I love you they have let out into the world.

Your face is beautiful for the way it brightens when you receive good news, that split second before you’ve even processed it, when your whole expression opens up before your mind has caught up. For the way it scrunches when something is too spicy or too loud. For the way it looks when you sleep, finally unguarded, finally resting from the work of being a person in the world.

Your hair is beautiful for the way it flows when you dance. For the way it holds the smell of wherever you’ve been. For the way it looks first thing in the morning, before you’ve done anything to it, before the day has made any demands of you.

Your nose is beautiful for the way it lets you smell your favourite food. For the way it crinkles when you laugh at something genuinely funny, not politely funny, but the kind that catches you off guard. For the way it led you, when you were small, toward every good thing, fresh air and rain and the specific warmth of somewhere that felt like home.

Your hands are beautiful for everything they have held. Every hand they have reached for in the dark, every door they have opened, every meal they have made for someone they wanted to take care of. For the way they move when you talk, tracing the shape of what you mean before the words arrive.

Your voice is beautiful for the way it changes depending on who you’re talking to, softer with people you feel safe with, brighter when you’re excited about something, quieter when you’re saying something true. For the way it sounds when you laugh without meaning to. For the way it has said things that stayed with someone long after you forgot you said them.

Your body is beautiful for the way you move through the world with it. For everything it has carried you through without being asked. For every time it showed up when you needed it to, every morning it woke up and kept going, every moment it felt something deeply enough to remember.

You are not beautiful despite the way you look. You are beautiful for the way you exist. For what you notice, what you reach for, what you feel. For the specific and unrepeatable way that you, in this body, move through a world that is richer for having you in it.