[Sawrock]

Whenever I talk about this, people don't seem to understand. Which is okay- this feeling of mine is derived from emotion, from something innate to my being. It isn't logically decided upon from thought or from witnessing the progress and results of others. It is core, of heart and soul. Nonetheless, I am compelled to get the feelings into words, and from words to here.

I hate objectively describing myself. To self-examine is to be lost in a mirror of your own creation; it is much better to reflect upon how others see you than to attempt to see yourself and be blinded by your own narcissism. "I am smart", "I am dumb", "I am unlucky", "I am emotionally tough". Whenever I hear people say those things about themselves, almost entirely it is the opposite of the truth. Their own perception of what should be their own smartness ironically makes them miss many opportunities to reflect. An observation of their unluckiness drags them down into despair, when another's own day had the same luck- they just picked upon the weeds of their green grasses when the field next over is all the same. Now, this isn't to say I don't describe myself- I call myself a narcissist flat-out, and I love admiring myself in the mirror. But this is not "I am beautiful to others", this is "I am beautiful to me". I love my eye bags, hair strewn about my face. I care not for conventional. I care for what I feel. I give into my base desires so simply.

 People often call me nice. I am not nice, or at least, not in the sense most would consider nice. This is hypocritically describing myself, yes, which fills me with both disgust and wonder. To explain further, I see being nice is when you derive happiness from the success of others, whether actual or desired. To help those who need help, to take other's feelings into consideration, to have many perspectives to make the best outcome possible you can attempt. That is the entirety of nice. What I have is more. I enjoy humanity completely. There isn't a distinction in the most heartfelt enjoyment between nice and not. It's not about quality, but quantity.

I love my fiancé. I love my folks, and my sister and her husband, and my fiancé's folks. I work at a job that pays way more than I'm used to, and I work from home, so I have no need to waste gas for anything but pleasure. I appreciate those who live in my life, and the life I live. But there's always more. Always from the heart, beating endlessly. To love humanity as a whole. Each of my conscious loves are specific, developed over time and with trust and work. And that's amazing... to have built a life for myself out of my connections and experiences. But my love, not loves, but love... that which waits, that feeling that needn't grow but is always there; people.

I love people. Their successes. Their failures. Their comedies and tragedies and gaining people and losing people and the fighting and the cooperation and all of it is so much. It's so much, but yet it's just right. As it was meant to be. To sunder another... to go against the wishes of them, their family, their friends, their life. Both their misery of such a loss and the appreciation of any help given fills me to the brim with love. The love, singular. I don't expect you to understand. Even if you do, it doesn't matter. My joy remains the same. For humanity.

I don't give into the most base of love due to the sheer quantity of my other loves, for my darling who I would do anything for, for my folks who I owe my life and success, and so on. If I had none of those, I wouldn't be miserable. I'd certainly be upset at first- I am human myself, after all. But I'm not gone. I still have the love. To find humans. To find humanity. To see all, joy and misery and fear and hate and jubilation. To be mocked is the same as being cheered. To be cursed is the same as being hailed. Some others might act out in hate, in destructive tendencies fueled by dogmas or a view of the world developed by sights so tainted that the violence is merely reactive to such feelings. But the love isn't hateful. It's pure- it just exists. It is.