I love me. Yes, I say this often.

People scoff—they hear it too many times.

“You’re full of yourself”, they scold.

“I love you too. I just love me more.”

What’s wrong with this?

The trials in my life require that I love me.

The echo of my past insists that I love me.

The seed of my womb needs me to love me.

The passions of my heart live because I love me.

My future… My world… Demand that I love me,

And that I love you too.

What’s wrong with this?