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"Some people don't just love you.
They show you who you were before the world told you to hide."
Dear Diary,
This morning,
he took a picture of me when I wasn't looking.
We were in his kitchen —
sunlight pouring through the window,
my curls still wild from sleep,
barefoot,
holding a mug way too big for my hands.
I was talking about something silly —
probably one of my daydreams again.
The kind where I imagine running a tiny bookshop in the woods,
surrounded by cats and quiet symphonies.
And when I looked up, he was smiling at me —
camera in hand.
I frowned.
Laughed awkwardly.
Reached for the phone.
"Delete it," I said, "I look—"
But he stopped me.
Not roughly.
Not forcefully.
Just… gently.
"No," he said.
"You look like you.
Like the version of you that forgets to hide."
And Diary,
I didn't know how to respond.
Because I'm used to posing.
Used to filters and angles and practiced smiles.
But in that photo,
I looked like someone soft.
Like someone full of stories.
Like someone real.
He made me sit beside him and look at it again.
And again.
Until I stopped flinching.
Until I stopped judging.
And somewhere between my tenth glance and twelfth breath,
I saw her.
That girl.
Me.
Not the version that survives the day,
but the one who lives.
He leaned his head on my shoulder and whispered,
"You are art when you're not trying to be."
And suddenly,
my heart felt like a glass jar holding too much light.
Warm and fragile and full.
I didn't cry.
But I wanted to.
Because no one's ever handed me myself so carefully before.
So today wasn't about kisses or grand gestures.
It was about the quiet revolution of being seen —
without being edited.
I think I could learn to love myself through the mirror he holds.
Not forever, maybe.
But at least for today.
And sometimes,
today is all we need.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 📸💛
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