It's terrifying to think that you’ve to trust somebody enough to let them see you naked. You’ve undressed and reminded them that you have stretch marks and birth marks and scars from having chicken pox when you were little and scars from all of the other things now. You’ve blushed thousands of shades of red, painting yourself as a rose losing its petals. And that person — that person took it all in. And I wonder if they had reassure you? But mostly, I wonder if they had even see anything worth reassuring you about. I hope they saw each freckle on your back as a star as if you are the whole universe to them.