I fall in and out of love with the way I look. I’ve learned that beauty is not constant, nor is it always kind. It ebbs and flows, dances in and out of focus, leaving me to navigate the space between adoration and indifference. I’ve realized that loving myself is not a destination but a journey—one that wavers, stumbles, and begins anew with each passing day. And though the love may fade and saturate, the memory of that fleeting tenderness remains, a reminder that even in the moments of doubt, I am worthy of love, even if it is a love that I must learn to rekindle, time and time again.