It is often said that those that do not love themselves cannot be loved by others. But what if there is truly no reason to love yourself beyond the fact that others find value in it? What if the value assigned to oneself relies wholely on the assumption that others find value in it? Would the cycle not then be never ending? Love spawning love, to enhance love. Is that not the most beautiful of cycles? The constant creation of love?

That is unless one lives by the assumption that love can only spawn hate. Is this not true as well? To bring upon the world love that is not recipricated, which is itself the second road that love may go upon, is that not to create a future of pain and hate?

Is there a middle ground? Can love be anything but an assurance of pain or the guarentee of happiness? Given that these are the only two options, to gamble with love seems like a fools errand, and yet the world is said to be full to the brim with it. Why chose to gamble? Is it worth the risk? Is the happiness brought about by one love equal to the pain brought about by many of them? Can love still survive if it is haunted by the spectors of pain? Just how many chances is man supposed to take before he is better off not trying any more? Is love worth it?