The love was real whether or not Jessica deserved it.

The courage was real whether or not she thanked me for it.

And the scars were the proof of both, written permanently into the one place no one could ever make me give back.

Standing by that ocean, I stopped flinching at my own reflection.

It took eight months.

It was worth every day of it.

My body is not a thing I am ashamed of anymore.

It is the truest thing I own.