If there’s one thing I loathe more than myself is the fact love exist.
How is this feeling even here in my life for I have never even felt warmth around my very own mother?
I can no longer tell when she’s proud of me or even when she loves me for who I am.
She always speculates all these bizarre things about me, and because of that I couldn’t even learn to love myself.
How hard it is to even look at yourself in the mirror and not believe in who you are because your very own mother yanked out your beating heart.
She’s perfect but is perfection really what’s essential?
You know the saying; the quest for money is a hollow journey.
But then again, maybe love is important after all.
How can you begin to love another being, if you don’t even love yourself?
16 December 2013