I love myself so much, I am killing you. The reports were impressive, but when you thought you impressed me, I laughed. The actual times you impressed me were few. You were inconsistent. But you never lied. Your love was unconditional---but you died. I doubt life's validity. Life won't stay. We are all conditional. All we see is crippled, really. To speak of unconditional love. You wish me to kill another? Should love have that kind of will? It shouldn't, but it has. Love does exist unconditionally. But life, conditionally. She loved you for certain reasons, and therefore, not really. She loved you, but for these conditions. Be imaginative. Switch historical positions. See how it all depends on this and that which, if not---life's moments all fall flat. I will be you---this is love, indeed. I'll stop loving myself. That's all I need.