A/N: yo yo look who's still alive? me, that's who. heres some fluff that doesn't really have any substance. Valentine's day special just for ya'll
suicide and self harm and drugs mention btw. I also need to stop trying to write angst.
"You cannot love someone else if you do not love yourself." He didn't know where he had heard it but the words were sawed into his bones, coaxed into his brain, engraved into his roots. He didn't know where it came from but it held him with such marvelous strength, it scared him. It frightened him. He loved. Oh yes, he loved, but it must not be love then. Adoration? Obsession? Lust? He didn't know. If it wasn't love then what could it be? What sick affection clawed at him day and night? What affection as this that tore him apart, splitting his threads and breaking his glass. He thought of her. In the bad nights where he looked to the knife or the bottle or the other method of self hatred, he thought of her. He thought of those words. He was not allowed to love. He didn't deserve love because he could not love himself. He didn't want to say that those words were wrong, but they were. Oh they were wrong, the love he had for the girl tore at his every bone, broke every vein, it opened every wound. The love he had for her ruined him, ruined him more that is. And in the height of the pain he caused onto himself, he thought of her. He loved her to every end of the world. He loved her to the stars and the moons of Saturn and the storms of Jupiter, the way the sun loves the moon. The way the sun needs the moon. Oh he loved her so much, it consumed him, it took his breathe away. And the butterflies he once had in his stomach because of her became monsters. Monsters that devoured him and broke him and ruined him and loved him.
"You cannot love someone if you don't love yourself." It was wrong. He didn't need his own love for he loved her. He loved her with every reproducing cell n his body. Every inch of skin itched for her. Every heartbeat needed hers next to him. He loved her and that made him worthy. He loved her and that made him love himself. His love for her took over his body. It held him down and filled him like an elixir of life for it made him feel alive. It gave him a kick. Cocaine was no good, alcohol wore off, pain stopped. Everything ended. Everything stopped and yet the bubbly champagne in his veins filled him with the stream of foreverness and immortality. The champagne blood of love and cupid filled him with goddess sweet words and her voice. Her smell. Her taste. Her thoughts. The champagne blood made him feel her, feel her love, feel okay. Her love, his love for her, made him okay. He would give his last breathe for her. He would give his lungs for her. He would give his eyes. He would give his heart and his fingers and his brain and his kidney and his life for her. He would catch a bullet and he would drink poison and kill for her cause if she died it would ruin him. It would break him because cocaine is no good, alcohol wears off and pain stops. Everything stops and her life would to. He would rather be taken away from her then the other way around. The love for her ruined and saved him. He loved the love he had, the love her wore, the love he metalized on his chest for her. He loved her. He needed her. He loves, loved, can love, is loved, in love, beneath love, filled with love, inside of love, is beloved and will love her. He will always love her. He will always be filled with her. He doesn't love himself so his love for her saved him. And he would give anything for her. His heart. His lungs. His immortality of a Death God. Anything for her for he is saved and damned. Damned to her and saved by her. It was so sweet and bitter for she loved him and he loved her and he loves that. He is damned to hell with this love and he is saved to heaven. She is his devil and his angel and he would give anything for either.
"You cannot love someone if you don't love yourself." He loves, loved, will love her and will never love himself. It consumes him and he knows it is wrong. The words are wrong. He is right. He is in love with her, the sun, and she loves him, the moon, despite the fact that he doesn't love himself and he would give her his stars and she would give him her fire.