Him: This is like a dream!We laughed and then got quiet again and he began smoothing my hair with the utmost tenderness, as if he were handling a rare, precious butterfly -- my hideous hair! -- and his eyes were beaming with unreserved adoration and affection, and I suddenly got self-conscious: how could he possibly look at me like that and enjoy what he saw? Didn't he see the lines in my face? That my smile is crooked? My awkward stance?
Me (giggling): Like freefalling. I found this animation of Homer Simpson falling down a neverending flight of stairs.
Him: Um, do I remind you of Homer Simpson?
I don't honestly believe I'm pretty or special or worthy.
I don't know how to be cherished.
I don't know how to receive, I only know how to give.
But I'm not going to. I'm going to give this a chance, as terrified as I am.
I will try.