I give thanks that I am loved.
It might be presumptuous of me, but I think I’m fortunate. Lucky. Blessed.
Whatever force you believe in, random sparks of life, or meeting of the fates, it’s really quite incomprehensible.
How could this be? For if I loathe myself so much, that someone else could find love in their hearts. The generosity of it all. That we could be so selfless to another being, when we are also so selfishly absorbed in our own machinations, that another could be considered.
Thus, what other response is there to give to the faith placed in you, except to give the very best of yourself in return?