They call it self love, I call it second and hand outward love. I call it giving you the love that'll only sit on the shelf and collect dust if it stays with me. You see the love, I won't show myself. I'll pour into you from a picture that is not full itself, but it will imagine itself with all the love that can never be contained and will be manifested into you.
They call it self love but how can it be called that if the self never sees it. Now technically the self does see it but only when it's portrayed onto you and only then will absorb it second handedly almost as if a consolation prize just to be melted down and turned into more for you. The self sees none of it but needs none of it either but yet deprives it from herself so she provides herself to others.
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