I don’t know how to fix you.
I don’t even know how to hold you
without breaking too.
But I wish you saw what I see.
Not the cracks,
not the mess—
but the fight in your chest
that still wants to believe.
You say you’re unlovable.
I say you’ve just been handed love
in all the wrong ways.
Love that walks out.
Love that lies.
Love that hurts
and then tells you it’s your fault.
You think you’re hard to love—
but I think you just learned
to expect the leaving
before they even stay.
I won’t promise I’ll save you.
I’m not a cure,
and you’re not a disease.
But if you ever fall again,
I’ll sit with you in the wreckage.
Not to fix,
not to change,
just to remind you—
you still exist.
And maybe that’s enough
for now.
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