I Could Live Here Forever

by Hanna Halperin

Deep down I knew that I was pretty, but it seemed embarrassing to admit this, because I knew there was something ugly about me, too. My prettiness wasn’t straightforward or consistent and it was something I felt more when I was by myself. I was never the prettiest girl in the room, and never would be. I wondered if he was lying to me or if it was possible that he saw me how I saw myself in my most private, most generous moments.

I didn’t need to be the prettiest or the most successful or even the most talented. But I desperately wanted—needed—to be loved.

The only thing I wanted was for my mother to be happy, and I did everything I could to make her happy. When she was happy, I felt loved.

At the end of the day, you have to decide what you want to accept in a relationship.”

settled. I felt love for my friends, being there with them, and I also felt myself growing quiet. That familiar tug returned; the sense of not quite fitting. A sadness in a moment when you were supposed to feel happy. It was a feeling I associated with being a kid, but it had followed me. Maybe it would be the kind of thing I’d always feel—or maybe one day I’d outgrow it.