To All
Knights in Shining Armor:
Why do my
hurts need to be fixed? Why can’t I just stay broken? What’s wrong with me not being
whole? I have no desire to strive for perfection; it doesn’t exist anyways.
When I vent out my problems, I’m not looking for you to solve them. My tears do
not mean I’m pleading with you to repair anything.
Why can’t we talk
about our failures, even with those supposedly closest to us, without them readying
to leap to our rescue, to solve our troubles? If I need your help, I will specifically
ask. Otherwise, assume that I am broken beyond repair, and do not want pity,
only your silent presence of acknowledgement that I exist. Broken, whole, or
shattered in pieces - I am here and you are standing with me, and that is all I
really need.
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