When there is nothing profound to say.
Other than I need to love myself.
To stop seeking comfort in the warm outter layers, to first wrap my heart carefully.
I never grasped what it meant
Never knew how much I needed it.
Until I stopped reaching and found my hand could fit so perfectly in the other.
How can I provide, how can I give when there is no source to drink from within?
Suddenly my selfishness doesn’t seem so selfish.
Suddenly, it makes sense.
In order to get love, I have to be love
Be all the things I am, instead of seeing what I’m not.
Perhaps the most profound thing I can say is that no, I don’t yet love me.
But I’m trying and I will.