I Cannot Save You, But I Am Not Afraid To Love You Anyway

If I could make it better, I would.

I would swallow the sun and kiss it straight into your mouth if it meant you’d feel warm again. I would bury green gardens deep inside your heart if it meant you would blossom there. I would pull myself apart, jagged bone and soft skin, if it meant I could find the right pieces to put you back together again.

I would, darling. I would. But I can’t. For I learned time and time again that human beings cannot be saved, or fixed, or grown by others — they can only be loved. So I will love you, and I will love you well.

I will love you on the days your laughter meets your eyes, and I will love you just as much when it does not. I will love you on the days you are made of light, and I will love you just as much when the world feels like a load you have to carry upon your shoulders. I will love you through your healing, and I will love you through your hurt. I will love you through your peace, and I will love you through your pain. I will love you when you love yourself, and I will love you when you do not.

I refuse to fall in love with the idea of who you can be if I were to nip and tuck and patch and sew you into someone else. If I were to throw a blanket over the baggage in your ribcage, only focusing on the prettiest parts of you. I refuse to love you in halves. So — show me where you thrive, and I will love you there. Show me where you break and I will love you there. Show me where you hope and I will love you there. Show me where you doubt and I will love you there. Show me where you hide, and I will love you there. Show me your open heart, flayed and beating in its decay and in its growth, and I will love it, darling.

I will love it.