Attired

I used to prefer baggy clothes. Loose fitting, form hiding.

And I think it’s because I never liked the way I looked. Especially when being held. I’d rather keep my imperfections buried under layers, that way no one can see them. Or judge them. Or acknowledge they’re even there. And if others can’t notice them, maybe I can ignore them.

But when you held me, touching every curve and every scar without hesitation, I never felt more exposed.
More naked.
Yet… covered.
All at the same time.
So of course I never wanted to take you off, no matter how tight you were against me.

Because for the first time, I liked what I saw in the mirror.