grief, i’ve learned, is really just love. it’s all the love you want to give but cannot. all that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and the hollow part of your chest.
“I’m not perfect, by any means. But I want to be, for you. I’ve never been in love before. I thought I was. But it never felt like this. I never wanted to be better for anyone. My heart is yours. Do whatever you want with it.”
i've never been free my whole life. inside, i've always chased myself. i've become intolerable to myself. i live in a lacerating duality. i'm seemingly free, but i'm a prisoner inside of me.
i did not ask to be this hideous creature of cracked skin and snarling voice. this prison of flesh is the only thing you ever gave me, so i will wear it until you regret that you created it.