I want to say I love myself.
I want to stake a claim upon a piece of territory as yet untouched.
I want to issue the next grand proclamation, the next “man on the moon” statement, about and for myself.
But I won’t.
To say I love myself is to say I love all I am, all I’ve been and all I will become.
It is a promise between who I am now and who I’ll ever be. And I… I cannot keep promises.
I think myself a liar. The words that pass my lips often become false as they leave my tongue. As they fall from my lips and reverberate amongst the walls and then reach an ear, they become stained in falsehoods.
I promise I’ll write.
I promise I’ll wait.
I promise I won’t touch.
It is hard to say why I am this way. My prescription says it is a side effect of my natural hopelessness, yet I feel as if it is a side effect of myself. Because I am incapable of saying “I love myself,” I cannot speak truths. Because I cannot speak truths, I cannot claim to love myself without it being false. Because.
There is no answer. Right, wrong, black and white.
When someone asks if I want tea or coffee, I do not say. I cannot say. When they ask, I feel as if they are living in a yes, no world while I am living in a gray area. I want both, yet I want neither.
The moment often passes, they pass, and still, I am in that limbo where every guarantee is false.
They never encompass the whole truth.