For the longest time, after having thought about the idea for while, I’ve concluded that love—as well as the happiness that it encompasses—cannot coexist with personal insecurities, and need, and fear. That is, love doesn’t need; it is wholly and utterly accepting. Accepting to the point that it does not fear for loss, and does not overly distress over loss when it occurs. But perhaps, although that is true in a perfect world where both of those who love are both completely happy and content with themselves so as not to feel unhealthily attached to the other in such a way, that may also be true for those who aren’t completely content with themselves. What if the love is there, just that it is obscured by illusions and falsities of love? The fact that I say love is only possible for those who are capable of completely loving themselves, and those who are happy just with themselves, excludes essentially the majority of the world’s population, for there is actually a very little number of people who can honestly affirm their own happiness. So I would be condescending in declaring most everyone incapable of true love, and certainly the thought of that does not help me have peace with myself.