You met me when I was skinny.
I think I owe you an apology.
I didn’t properly warn you that my sixteen year old body was temporary.
You fell in love with me when my stomach was flat and my face looked prettier and I took up half as much space.
Thirty pounds gained,
And your opinion of me somehow didn’t waver.
You never commented on my constantly expanding body.
Just pulled me closer and told me I was perfect, I was perfect, you thought I was perfect.
Those words had me reeling every time you said them.
I knew I wasn’t exactly perfect, but you had me feeling as close to it as I humanly could.
I didn’t think very much of my size ten waist either at that point.
My hips and thighs and every part of me had become a curve and I thought curves were what every woman wanted.
And wow, I constantly craved the look in your eyes every time you watched me from across a room.
That is, until someone reminded you that you could do better.
Just like that, I was composed of undesirable hills and bumpy mountains.
I’ve never seen you so angry and I almost hate to admit that it was the only redeeming second of that interaction.
You stood up for me when I was speechless, without hesitation, and that was when I realized the extent of which I was cared for.
I knew wholeheartedly, in the pit of the stomach you kissed and I cried over, that you simply didn’t see what they saw in my overbearing appearance.
But their words still refused to leave my head.
Thirty more pounds,
And I couldn’t shake it, couldn’t ignore the fact that I wasn’t the pretty kind of curvy people wanted to look at.
I’d grown too far away from the girl you’d met a couple years prior.
You still held my hips like nothing had changed.
Kissed my pale cheeks that lost their definition a long time ago.
Pulled me onto your lap while I worried about my thighs crushing you underneath.
“Don’t change for me,” you’d say between esurient kisses.
“I’d love you at 80 pounds.
I’d love you at 800.”
If you could have woken me up with those exact words everyday of my life, maybe I never would have thought otherwise, but that’s not reality and I was too afraid to face it.
“You could do better” was a cacophonous chorus screaming louder in my head, keeping me awake at night and keeping me hungry every day.
I couldn’t deny the simple truth that you grew into someone far too good looking for someone like me, as I only regressed.
I couldn’t shake the fact that I couldn’t measure up even if you didn’t see it.
Because you would one day, eventually.
You’d get sick of trying to carry such a heavy burden behind you, on top of you, suffocating you. I was.
So, for you, I thought I would be skinny again.
Thirty pounds less.
Until I looked like the girl you fell in love with.
Until I looked better than the girl you fell in love with.
Until I looked like someone brand new.
Please don’t comment on the size of my lunch or lack thereof.
Don’t look at me with concern because I flinch at the mention of my favorite foods now.
I will be.
Skin & Bones – Marianas Trench