Our Own Pretty Ways

I came upon this picture that my friend Eva took of me one day last year. 

It was around the same time, and same weather condition as today. 

We were sitting at the top of a parking terrace listening to music. 

I'm not sure if I'm scratching my head or just in disbelief of something, but I kind of like it.

It's simple. 

I'm not posing.

 I'm just me. 

And I like it. 

This picture got me thinking of the things I do:

How I conduct myself. 

How I talk to people.  

How weird I am. 

And I don't know why -but then again, I rarely ever do- I remembered the boy who has been on my mind lately. Just yesterday he told me he loved how weird I was. 

He said it made me interesting, and made him want to be around me. 

I don't know how much of that was true, and how much of that he said just so I'd let him hold my hand, but I feel like maybe there are people who appreciate the differences in other people. 

That maybe, everyone has someone who loves that little weird thing they do. 

And that maybe, instead of blowing it off half-heartedly we should hold on to those things, because it sets us apart. 

Because some one will love it, or rather, already does. 

Today I decided that my weirdness is okay. 

That I shouldn't be ashamed or embarrassed of it. 

It's something that people recognize me for. 

Something they long.

A difference in a sea of normal and ordinary. 

And that's enough for me.