Autobiography no. 10

She quoted a musical at me, saying
“You’ll never share in love until you love yourself.”

and I thought to myself
that I never told her that I wanted to be loved,
that all I ever mentioned was my despair and impotent desire to die
and that I liked Russian writers better than those of other nations.
I said “That is an interesting point.”

After I got back to my apartment and unlocked the door
and went to my room and laid down on the carpeted floor
where I keep my pillow and the quilt my mother made me,
I thought more about the miniature conversation we had.
Many people I know give advice that would be solid as stone
if only they were not speaking to a madman.
In retrospect it seemed an almost cruel thing for her to say,
though I know she did not mean to draw blood.
Of course I agreed with her. She was telling the truth,
but she didn’t seem to know that the coin had another side.
If you don’t love yourself you know that no one will ever love you
but you have to wake up every day anyway
so that is what I am going to do tomorrow.