I still wish I used to be naturally inclined to joyfulness. Skipping concealer hasn’t left me awash with self-love; the very fact is, living with an inclination towards darkness means living with risk. The danger that, at times, that darkness will tip you right into a hole it’s good to claw your way out of. It’s hard to like a thing that, at times, makes you are feeling unsafe in your personal body. But once I take a look at my bare under eyes, I feel sympathy within the word’s original sense. Sympathy, as within the mechanism by which philosopher David Hume said affection passes “from one person to a different”. Affection and sympathy are smaller, more contingent words than love, but they’re the bridges that enable it, they usually are a part of the brand new journey I’m on.