Mini Brain Dumps

Cute.

It feels light, like air—fleeting, effortless, harmless.
It’s a compliment.
Unless you’re talking about what I do for a living.
It’s a compliment.
Unless you say it in response to an idea I’ve poured my heart into, something I’ve fought so hard to bring to life.
It’s a compliment.
Unless it isn’t.

My whole life, I have been called cute.
Never pretty.
Never beautiful.
Never more than a soft brush of words against skin that longs for something more, something that resonates beyond the surface.
As if “cute” is all I am.
As if I don’t deserve to be adorned with words that carry more weight.

Pretty.

It sounds different, doesn’t it?
Sturdier. Polished.

Beautiful.

A word with gravity, one that commands adoration, awe, a pause in time.

Cute.

A blink of an eye, and then it’s gone.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful.
“Cute” is nice.
“Cute” makes people smile, and maybe that’s the point of it.
But sometimes, I crave to be seen in a way that isn’t just soft and sweet.
I want to feel the weight of “beautiful” pressing on my shoulders,
like I’ve earned it.
Like I am more than just a fleeting moment of lighthearted charm.

Yet, in the quiet moments, I wonder if maybe “cute” is what I’m meant to be.
Maybe my place is to be a little burst of joy in someone’s day.
But still, I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting.
Waiting for the day someone looks past “cute”
and sees something deeper.
Something that lingers.