Do they just love me because they are supposed to love me?
After all, what kind of monster wouldn't love their
daughter,
sister,
close friend.
Are my relationships obligatory,
transactional?
Does my presence just fill the shape of their loneliness?
Does the earth love me?
Me, consumer of her resources, living in excess.
Trying to sleep as the AC blasts frosted air.
I love her.
But do I?
If I did, would I allow my incessant desire for more, more, more?
What is love, anyway?
Is there a love that exists without demanding ownership?
Is that what I am demanding from those who say they love me—
proof that I occupy a special part of their lives that no one else could?
A part I can label as mine,
a part I could own?
...Or rent?
Why would I demand such things from people who say they love me,
from people I love so much that the thought of losing them makes my eyes brim,
instantly.
The fear of my love not being fully reciprocal
is too much.
Too much.
How can I love the earth without trying to own a part of her?
Without demonizing portions of her;
Oh, the heat and humidity is killing me.
Oh, there's too many people there.
Oh, the incessant sunlight is abrasive.
Can I bask in gratitude instead of wanting something different?
Why do I need to feel special, anyway?
Why does my ego demand such flagrant proof?
Why can't I just believe people when they say they love me;
their daughter,
sister,
close friend?
Can I love myself?
Can I love someone who wants so badly to be first?
Wouldn't I despise that desire in someone else?
Write them off as an egomaniac?
Thinking about certain people
who I love considerably,
who I would take a bullet for;
my eyes brim.
My love for them is pure.
Or is it?
Is my desire for reciprocal feelings
tainting the nature of my own feelings?
Can't I love without asking for the same in return?
Wouldn't that love be even more pure,
not marred by ownership?
Can I go the fuck back to sleep?
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