“It’s hard to love someone who’s shattered. Their self image is cracked, seen through tear-stained eyes, and their hearts are never full, always hungry. These people are sick, though they never admit it. They grapple with themselves in a fight that they try to make look like a dance, even though they have yet to fool even one person. The shattered ones are not whole. I am not whole.
I have puncture wounds and battle scars, holes and bruises, none of which seem to heal. I am covered in blood, most of which is my own, and I can never wash it off. For me, love is the knight in shining armor that never recused me from my tower. And when I thought it did, it was just a witch in disguise. My princess dress is a pile of shreds, and my castle is a crumbling nightmare. My dreams came undone as I did.
People think it is easy to love someone who’s shattered. That if you wear gloves, you can pick up the pieces easy, and a little superglue will do the trick. But how does glue work to tie pieces of heartstrings? How does a bandaid hold together wounds that span a canyon? How do you fix what is broken?
What is truly broken, is beyond fixing. Most people never realize that. They spend their whole lives looking at shards of glass, but while trying to glue it back together, they fail to see the beauty it creates in the sand.
I am sorry I am hard to love. I am sorry I am not the perfect picture that you wanted. I am sorry my edges are rough, and that my character suffers from the PTSD of my past.
I am sorry I’m a bird stuck in a cage, where the bars that hold me are my own wings and feathers.
What I’m not sorry for, is that I’m not changing. I am bruised and battered and fucked a thousand ways to Sunday. But that makes me different, and that is something I won’t ever apologize for.
Maybe the problem isn’t that we are shattered. Maybe the problem is that no one can see just how beautiful that makes us.”