When someone loves you, it’s all about you. You’re becoming the center of your universe, shining the light, creating stars out of thin air. When they choose to not love you, it’s all about them: They suffocate your stars, one by one, until darkness wins.
When someone loves you, it’s all about them. They’re the galaxy that spins its spiral arms, turning faster with every touch. When they choose to not love you, it’s all about you: You’ve been absorbed, assimilated; now you’re out of energy, losing your light.
Both of the above statements are wrong, and horribly so.
The catch is, you’re not the center of anyone’s universe — including your own. When someone loves you or doesn’t, or you do or don’t: it’s not about you or them. It’s about both of you without being about you, or them, individually.
The catch’s catch? Only within the individual, only within your self, lies the potential for building yourself, for building upon yourself, for preparing for loving or being loved. If you delay building yourself until the galaxies are circling each other, you’ve waited for too long.