my own devil.

"we are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell." that's what wilde said and i believe him. there is no outer evil greater than the inner. we soar high above ourselves not realizing who we are and what we cause, who we hurt. we too often forget about ourselves - we blame others, because it's so easily done.

sometimes i remember myself too often. i remember that i might not feel as good about myself as i should. i know i'm loved - i've stopped questioning that. now i question "why?". i fail in loving myself, still to this day, and i can't understand what it is that others like in me. is it merely the fact that i love them?

i've come to realize that no love is greater than the one that is gotten back in return, because a part of what you love others for is their love for you. how can you not love someone who would die for you, even if you don't like them. this is my problem. sometimes i doubt i'm loved for something more than my love for others. that if i disliked someone they could not in any way see beauty in my persona. but if i love them that is the only quality they needed to find.

i'm happy. i am. really. but i'm still my own devil, and i need his words to make this hell a heaven. "i love you for you."