But real freedom is softer than that. It’s knowing I can still shine without setting myself on fire.

When I look back at every era I’ve lived—every version of myself captured in mirrors, captions, and passing glances—I don’t see someone who was ever lacking. I see someone who knew he was worthy, even when others tried to convince him he wasn’t. ​

Who are we without the ones who’ve seen every version of us—and stayed? The ones who can laugh at your most outrageous moments, but never judge you for them.

All my life, I looked up to the cautionary blondes—Marilyn and Anna weren’t warnings. They were reflections. A cautionary blonde with a blog. I recognized myself in the final edit--Pretty, a cautionary filter.

I’m not for everyone—and those people? Yeah. They’re definitely not for me. I have taste.

Whispers around town didn't scare me. Labeled as delusional. In every photo, every post—I was breaking. 

She wanted so badly to be his Jackie—she pretended not to notice he loved me like Marilyn.