elusive love-ish

Have I ever loved if I never knew what love was? How could a heart love that hated itself? How could one possess feelings for another when the faculties for feeling died long ago. How can one give what one does not have?

It’s all an illusion, isn’t? I don’t know how to love. All I want is to be loved, but being loved can never be a substitute for self-love. True love is in the giving, not the taking. It is in the ability to love, not the passivity in receiving. It’s symbiosis, not parasitism.

Those who lack it talk about it the most. Croon about it in songs. Tweet about it. Roam tumblr and pinterest for the most poignant quotes to express the mute feelings that are confused for love. It’s not love. It’s the echo of an inner void. It’s a soul’s plea for self-nurture. A plea misconstrued as need for others.

You have to dig a well to draw water from it. You have to delve into yourself to find love; only then can you share it with another.

 

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