Love Yourself: Memory #6

“I love you, Boone,” she spoke quietly.

“Do you even know what love is?” I demanded.

She studied my expression, “Father said it is something you feel when you care about someone.”

“Who else do you love?” I asked her.

She looked around for a minute as she thought about it, “You, Lucia, Maccon, and father.”

She smiled.

“What about yourself?” I asked her.

“Me?” she asked.

“Do you love yourself?”

“No,” she said with little thought, “Do you love me?”

“You can’t expect other people to love you if you don’t even love yourself,” I growled, obviously avoiding her question.

She smiled lightly, “Do you love yourself?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Maybe one day you can love me too,” she said.

“Only if you can learn to love yourself,” I told her.

I already knew I couldn’t love her, even if I tried to.

“I love you, Boone,” she said.

“Go away,” I hissed.

She grinned at me before leaving my room.

She doesn’t understand what love is. So why do I feel so happy?

I stared down at my left arm.

She knows and yet… she claims to love me even when I don’t love myself. How pathetic.