“I couldn’t love you like you deserved when I hated myself so much,” I admitted. And it was the truth. Hating yourself was hard work. It was hard to find room for anything else. “And how’s that going?” he murmured, his finger moving to my cheek as he softly brushed against my skin. “It’s a work in progress. Maybe it will always be a work in progress. Maybe I’ll always have some sort of sadness or self-loathing trying to suck me in. It’s just…I’m not going to let it anymore. I deserve better than that. You deserve better than that.”
