You are a person.
You are a poem, a love letter, an untold story.
You are adventure and loyalty, justice and bravery. You are a slow dance waiting to unfurl. You are the stars sprinkled against the pin holed sky; a constellation that stretches long and far and wide.
You are a flickering candle light that cannot be extinguished. Your light keeps burning, somedays a little dimmer than the last, but it never stops blazing. You're igneous and fiery, passionate and essential to the rotation and the axel and the spinning of this Earth.
You are the ocean: majestic, strong, and a feeler of many things.
You are dreams, desires, unrelenting aspirations. You are peaks and hills and mountains, cobblestone pathways and white, churning waters. You are all the places your feet may take you, all the faces your hands may reach out and touch.
You are tidal waves and wild flowers, a water-coloured piece of art.
You are lungs heaving oxygen and breath. You are blood bursting and seeping through veins. You are alive and you are hopeful.
But most of all, you are a person. You will be hurt, and you will hurt; you will be love, and you will love; you will be life, and you will live. And when the time comes, when the sun starts to glow lower in the sky casting the rest of the Earth a burnt peachy orange, you will open your lips and begin to tell your story. The people will lean in and listen well, because they'll know what you have to say is important. They'll know your significance because it will be written like a song across your flesh, and the strings of a guitar will be plucked and you will start to sing.
Marked by scars and bruises and raspberry kisses, you are a person. And that is the most exceptional thing in the world.