Until now.

I am starting to see life for what it is.
A series of mistakes, that if repeated, lead to destruction of self.

Languishing in it makes misery my home.

Or.

I could push past myself and love me ’cause I’m lovable.

I am starting to see love for what it is, not what I want it to be. All the words I hold in my tongue so I don’t offend you and the decisions I make despite your advice. And the frustration you have with my ways.

My frustration with you not being on my side.
You won’t love me to my death bed, I heard you say that.

I don’t want to be the kind of person that constantly surpresses who I am and what I want to fit into a world that couldn’t care less.

I don’t want to run away from things that haven’t happened yet.

I fell into the darkness I thought was myself and couldn’t get up.

Until now.

I am loving myself. It means looking her in the eye every day and giving her pleasures she’s never had.

And that’s okay.

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