"Riveted" by Robyn Sarah from A Day's Grace

It is possible that things will not get better
than they are now, or have been known to be.
It is possible that we are past the middle now.
It is possible that we have crossed the great water
without knowing it, and stand now on the other side.
Yes: I think that we have crossed it. Now
we are being given tickets, and they are not
tickets to the show we had been thinking of,
but to a different show, clearly inferior.

Check again: it is our own name on the envelope.
The tickets are to that other show.

It is possible that we will walk out of the darkened hall
without waiting for the last act: people do.
Some people do. But it is probable
that we will stay seated in our narrow seats
all through the tedious dénouement
to the unsurprising end — riveted, as it were;
spellbound by our own imperfect lives
because they are lives,
and because they are ours.

Here is what I would tell you about love:

Living your life as a gift to those who love you is one way to go. It will get you up in the morning. Desire will do this too, but most desire is temporary and specific. Duty works, works well, but it is work, and it will wear you after a while. Only if you make your life a gift will you find a reason to live that won't fall away with time.

You first must love yourself to do this. This is the beginning and end of it all. You must realize that you are a love letter to the universe. You must present yourself to be read and consent to it, open yourself line after line. You must give yourself away, extravagently, and with no regard for return, even though there will be return, there is always return. But you must be empty to receive it fully. Otherwise parts of it will overflow and lap down the sides.

Love yourself enough to give yourself away to a universe that loves you so ridiculously that it has created itself just to receive you in so many ways, in so many arms, in so many hearts.