Today the university bus was empty except for one single girl. She was as ordinary as the neutral brown of her hair and as generic as a pronoun. I hardly noticed her solitary form at first. However, the inside of her left arm became the shocking remembrance that she is more. The scars marked into the skin of her forearm were sudden proof of a story being lived. The healed cuts are not her identity, but they are proof that she lives one; that she is not just “she.” This stranger is more than a moment in time. She is more than a cloud of atoms in my view. She is more than a block of matter orbiting within the galaxy I consider myself to be in my pride. My eyes traced her maimed skin. It looked like a roadmap. I felt lost within the wordless proof of pain. I kept tracing. Twisting like a horrible, treacherous journey in deep space, I travelled. I wondered where she was now, what was going on in her mind and if anyone had told her of the universe she contains. At last, desperate, my eyes followed the spread of markings to the top. inked into her porcelain wrist was one word: “enough.”
Yes, you are.
Whoever you are, it is the truth. Perhaps I shall never see you again, and almost definitely you shall never read these words. But even so, you must know--you are more.
I’m sorry you ever felt invisible or undeserving; unheard or unseen or unknown or unloved. I’m sorry for people, like myself, who hardly notice you because you are just another dim star revolving around their own massively important existence. You are more than a form in the back of a dark bus–you are more than dark matter ignored because it lacks brilliance. You are more than created energy still existing because it can’t be destroyed. you contain worlds within;
you are enough,
You are enough
You are enough.