I'm learning the hard way - if there ever was an easy way - the real meaning of love.
Some time ago I thought to myself I knew what love was. It has gone around the heart in twisted knots rediscovering it's own definition as the heart redefined the word: love.
For the longest time I thought it was a selfless act. I was taught love was selfless. But they taught me wrong.
For the longest time I thought love was focusing on another the attention and time they wanted. But I have come to the answer the long way round, that true love is only ever a completely selfish thing. To love someone else is best done when my aim is self-serving for the feelings it infuses in my own chest.
Love is selfish and the more truely selfish I am in giving myself time to be alone, to work through my own problems, to treat myself well, the more others feel loved. How twisted is that?
