I celebrate
myself. I found joy—at least for one night. I celebrate myself because I’m not
searching for the destroyer of beauty. I cease to lurk in dark corners of my
mind for things left unsaid and undone—or even worst—for those things actually
spoken and acted on. If this feeling of complete acceptance be for only one
night, so be it. I do not claim perfection, nor do I savor consistency. I am
imperfect and progressive. I celebrate the night. This night. But reaching
further than this, I celebrate myself for allowing the night to permeate
through me.