I've been in some pretty big fights with the people I love the most in my life, yet time after time we find ourselves unscathed, undamaged, and unflustered. Patching the pain I fortuitously cause others isn't some errand I bitterly await, it seems like more of a human duty.

I never have a hard time fixing things that are broken in my life. A glass shattered on the floor this morning, & now it sits stitched flawlessly on the shelf.

It just feels right to leave something the way I found it, or at least try my damnest to get it near perfect. It really is the try that matters.

And I just don't understand how it can be... so easy for me to say I'm sorry, while it's somehow so easy for you to unapologetically lacerate every inch of my sympathetic soul.