I know I am human because I use my senses and I have feelings. I cry whenever I see my parents cry. I get giddy whenever a certain boy passes by. I laugh when I’m hurt and cry when I’m happy. I have bones and tendons and blood. So much blood being pumped out by my thumping heart: my heart that aches when I’m told it’s not going to work out anymore, when I’m told someone is gone forever. I am human because I can be gone forever. I am not some metal simply rusting as all the real people become nothing more than compost. All those real feelings making that soil nutrient dense. I am human because I can see my reflection. I can stare shamelessly at a mirror for what seems like hours, obsessing over flaws. Picking and pulling at myself until there is nothing left. Ashamed of the parts of me that do make me human. Bumps and hair and rolls on this surface that is my body. It’s imperfect yet somehow that’s the best thing about it. The imperfections remind us that we are human and the best thing about this life of ours is being able to seek gratitude in the imperfect.