If only she had loved herself, as much as he loved himself

She asked him to write. She asked him to write more. She asked him to write more about him. She asked him to write something about her. She, who doesn’t like asking.

He said no. He said no again. He said no yet again. He will say no for one more time. He, who knows what an unwanted yes is, and still, cannot tell it from a wanted one.

She thinks he is too good to be true. He thinks she is too good for him. She and he don’t know one important thing. It is also true that it would be too bad if they don’t have each other.

This piece is not about her. It’s not about him either. It’s about everything else. It’s about everyone except him and her. That’s because, she thinks, everything else is more important than him or her. And that’s also because, he thinks, it’s not right to tell her that she’s wrong.

Right is one of the most ambiguous words. It means many things and it’s seldom right. One doesn’t feel the right to define it, or when one does it’s either wrong, or loses its direction. I am writing this knowing that he and she will read it. He and she will think it was not right to write about it. Still, I have the right to write it, for he’s mine as much as she’s mine.

Owning is a feeling that is most difficult to rely on. One can’t own a thing unless everyone else approves the ownership. But one can always go around it and redefine the very concept of ownership. That is what I would do, because, it’s easier than trusting everyone for a thing I own. The only thing I have to do is to deny every one else. This philosophy is priceless; as it makes me own anything I want to. Thus, I can own myself, him, her, and everyone else. At this moment, I want to own only him and her. I own them. So can and does, anyone, who wants to own him and her. And, to my trouble, there are many who want to.

Every single self is selfish. Only a few are aware of it, and even few among them respect its existence. It’s with the rest – who doesn’t know the existence of their selfishness, and thus, are selfless – I have to fight for my rightly owned ownership. Then, it becomes a fight between a lonely selfishness and a huge mass of selflessness. Ownerships, naturally and in the name of virtuosity, switch sides. Right is being redefined, as usual, with wrong virtues. Selfishness loses the self, and joins the veteran loser, named me. They beat me with my rules. I am, once again, ridiculed for my selfishness in contrast to their selflessness.

Now, it’s them who own her and him. I am here to approve their ownership, by letting him to lose her, by letting her to lose him, and me losing both. I should be happy being the best loser, owning nothing but my own selfishness. Losers with nothing more to lose are a desperate lot. They will never let the last thing they own – their selfishness. My selfishness is bruised from the lashes of their selflessness. And my selfishness wants its blood to ask for vengeance. It has only me to go to ask for help. It’s the only thing I own. We have only each other, and no one else.

That is reason why I stand by my selfishness and decide to put up a fight against them of the selfless. My fight is for him and her, whom I want to own forever. My lonely battle is to save my selfishness from its loneliness by gifting it the company of him and her. I know they don’t love her or him. That won’t win me my war. Because I also know, they love her and his ownership, selflessly. Selfishness has seldom won a battle against selflessness, and even on the rare occasions when it did, selfishness had to lose its self in the effort. That prompts me to have second thoughts. If I have to lose my selfishness to own him and her, the same him and her I want to gift to my selfishness, is it a battle worth fighting? Yes, it is. If I couldn’t win him and her from them, still I will have my selfishness with me. He and she are worth more than my selfishness, after all.

Those have his ownership will hate her, for losing his ownership. Those have her ownership will hate him for losing her ownership. If they lose their respective ownerships, they will hate him, her and each other. They will have to hate in the name of their selflessness. Poor them. When they lose they won’t even have their selfishness to console them. It’s not a battle they can afford to lose, or they should lose. They will dress him and her in armours of their selfless love to fight against me. Him and her, my selfishness loves. Him and her, I want to own at the cost of my selfishness. It’s not him or her I can fight with, but the rest. He and she can defeat me without a fight, and they will.

I am lost before the fight. I walk away without looking back. Blaming the ones who love his ownership, and hate everyone who come to claim it. Blaming the ones who love her ownership, and hate everyone who come to claim it. Blaming her for putting on that armour of selfless love her owners offered for fighting against me. Blaming him for not respecting his selfishness and not listening to its commands. And feeling guilty for worrying for him and her, when I should have been content with company of my selfishness. Only if, he had given her what she wouldn’t ask, or she would have asked what he wanted to give, I would have been sleeping peacefully tonight. It’s already too late, she had told him.

This piece is written by a demand from a very dear friend of mine, and is dedicated to that invaluable friendship.