Dear selfish, wavering self, who are you?

Who have you become? I run from you in mirrors because I don't like that look you get in your eyes, that look of fear and insecurity, enough of it to drown a thousand men on their best days, their best years, their best moments with their best attire on. I hate that you see time as a rock thrown from the top of the world, and someday soon it will kill everyone, everything you love. Why must it be so? Why must your dazing head tread in these rough waters?, Why must you take on the sorrow of the world and let it soak you to the narrow, loosing your glittering soul?
I will say this because I know no one has told you lately- and even if they did you wouldn't believe them- you are loved.
You are deeply and profoundly and unconditionally loved.
You musn't doubt it all, not one second longer. You are utter magic. We all are. May that pound in your chest forever nod with amazement.
Are you listening?
If you keep running away from the beauty, one day you will look back and it will be too far gone.