For all the criticism I subject myself to, one day, and the day is not far, I am going to love myself so much that another's love might become redundant. A lover's love to be specific. It is so easy to tell the truth and so difficult to be honest. Have I been honest? No. I've had my share of wayward impulsiveness, and of indecisiveness where I took time deciding when time was of essence.
Here I go again talking about myself. The idea was to reflect, remember? To present a reflection on the outside world and not somersault on my own turf. Part of me is so self-satisfied and at ease here that it is an effort to care to be readable, to be understandable.
I will try.