love, after all.

"love yourself."

hollow words, still, plastered everywhere;

anywhere, allowing such an empty promise,

embedded in the impossible, always.

the word itself was a source of irritation.

love.

its inkling went ungrasped,

void of meaning and merely a word.

by fifteen,

she knew all its nuances.

all its shades of deception,

never once a plausible reality.

"just love yourself."

just.

oh, how her blood boiled.

please, I'm trying, was her unvaried cry.

with her hope, steadily ebbing,

for love wasn't an option anymore,

it was tired and warn,

as the answer laid at the basal of her virtue.

don't love.

just be kind.

oh.

oh.

"be kind to yourself."

kindness.

the goodness in her heart,

was an abstraction she could acknowledge.

before long, timid tendrils of hope,

encompassed a bruised conscience,

as she gave a gentle nod to her mirrored reflection,

as she appreciated her own jokes.

eventually, the sun shone warmer.

her smile, ever so illuminant,

her laugh oozed golden honey,

her eyes were lucent constellations.

"be kind to yourself."

for it was her own kindness,

her purity and her patience,

that was her saviour.

perhaps this was love, after all.