"You don’t think you’re beautiful," he stated, a little speechless. "Did anyone ever tell you that you were anything, but?"
She shakes her head. “Maybe on some days, I do feel some kind of wonderful. But the moment I start to think I am, my thoughts tell me other wise. I don’t think I’m good enough for that title. Beautiful people have golden hearts. They aren’t monsters and skeletons don’t hang in their closet and ghosts don’t dance around their graves. I, on the other hand seem to hold the shovel while digging alone. And beautiful people just look beautiful. Their teeth glisten and their eyes smile when they laugh, too. They don’t have hair they wish they could tame and eyes that are too tired. Because I am overly tired. There is just so much wrong with me, so much chaos on my mind. And some nights, there is nothing left in me to be called beautiful.”
He looked at her, “Oh but you are, but you refuse to see it. These tired eyes of yours won’t be restless forever. They will see what I see, some day.””