Laura Pioli

Because let’s be honest: liking a picture or watching a story doesn’t require much effort, it’s pretty damn simple and it takes less than a second.

To me, myself, and I. To the one that I was, I am and I will become: carry on.

We’ll get there, one day, maybe. When the first thing I’ll see waking up will be your green eyes, or your big hands, lost somewhere around the pillow. Someday, somehow, we will get there.

They all stick around, promising me things using only words and not many actions. They love me. They say it over and over, they miss me, they need me, they like me. And I believe them.

I make my own decisions, I decide who to fall in love with, who to let in, who can break my heart this year and who can’t, so what does it have to do with you, father?

I want effort: not the prince charming who wants to come get me at all cost, but the nice guy who just genuinely wants to be with me because he likes me and that’s what he wants.

Stop treating “love yourself” like a poem they need to memorize. That’s not how it works.

That’s what makes them beautiful.

I am sorry for all the times I insisted what you were giving me was not enough, because you know what, I get it, you were falling asleep by the time I was getting up, but if you REALLY wanted this we could have make it work.