If Self-Love Were a Place...

what would it look like?

It wouldn’t be perfect.
It wouldn’t be some polished, glowing temple floating above the clouds.
No, it would be warm. Lived-in. A little messy in the most beautiful way.

There would be sunlight. Not the harsh kind that blinds you, but the gentle kind that wraps around your shoulders like a soft blanket.
There would be quiet corners with cushions shaped by years of sitting and thinking. A bookshelf full of memories, lessons, and stories that shaped you.

There would be mirrors. Not the ones that pick you apart, but the ones that reflect your soul. The ones that remind you who you are, even on the days you forget.

You’d hear music that makes your chest ache and your spirit breathe easier. Songs that carried you through. Songs that sound like survival and softness all at once.
There would be room to dance when you feel light and space to lie down when you feel heavy.

No one would knock. No one would barge in. But the people you love and trust would have keys because you chose to let them in.
There would be a garden. Wild and blooming, with weeds and color and life—because growth never happens neatly.

And you?

You would be welcomed. Just as you are.
On your brightest days, you’d feel radiant.
On your lowest days, you’d feel safe.
And every time you walked through the door, this place would say,
I’m glad you came home.

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I love this song. I cried when they sang it in the movie.