Love Yourself.
As if those two words were the simplest of the form. If they were not a spell, nor a charm, to lure you into the forbidden chambers of love, so sacred, many are deprived. An allure so powerful once achieved apparently brings endless joy. Said by those who crave such, but never confirmed until experienced by oneself of course.
As if these words were just simple directions one would have to follow to reach their destination. A clear direction, like following a direct path in the forest. The clearing between the trees so wide, they’re just begging you to take a step towards your destiny. The allure of such a path blinds you to the storm behind the calm scenery.
As if every step you take won’t cause an earthquake to erupt into a perfect storm. As if every branch to brush on your shoulder, every trunk you set your eyes upon, every leaf you hear crunch beneath your feet fall to block your path. Each adding to a mountain so high that you could never climb, because your doubts would climb with you.
Love yourself so others can love you.
As if loving yourself was the last fatal ingredient in the dish that is affection. So simple, as if it was the key to unlocking the door that leads to my soulmate. So delicate, that if I turn the key a bit too hastily, it would shatter, leaving the door locked forever. While I scramble at the pieces below. Love yourself. If only someone could show me the ropes. Show me how, by doing just that. By loving me. But before I could even gaze at the door that sits locked before me. I must love myself. As if that grants permission to allow others to set their sight on me, but when I don’t, sets a barrier.
A barrier that wasn’t already there. Or was it?
Whether I set the barrier or not, it acts as a chain, when I peer down the hole of my desires. As if I am trying to stop myself from falling into the abyss after every hello, after every hug, after every word. As if I don’t want to fall. As if I’m not consciously falling into the abyss, but I’m being pushed into it. But I’m being pushed in by myself as well. Leaning on the edge to steal a look, as my curiosity peaks, whilst aware of the devilish air currents behind me ready to heave a blow in the direction I want to fall.
But every time I manage to get out, I’m back at that edge, peering in as if I have never seen such a hole before.