The Love That Has Been Shown to Me

How many times have I been a disappointment to someone who has cared for me? How many times have I only felt fear of love that was being offered to me? How many times has a feeling of vulnerability made me hateful, and defensive and cruel? How many times have I asked, “What can you do for me?” How many times have I feared to be loved because I felt too insecure to be worthy, assuming the worst of someone who was trying to be my friend, because I assumed the worst of myself?

How many times have I overlooked the beauty that friendship has to offer because of doubt and resentments I have held since what seems to be from another lifetime?

When I finally answer these questions, I will have acknowledged that love kept me in the palm of its hand, warm and gentle, seeing me through tragedy and despair hopelessness and anger, paranoia and dread, blood and tears, death and what I have thought life to be. If I can only accept that love has been, is, and always will be, even without my permission, maybe then I can show the love that has been shown to me.