To most she was broken.
To herself she was just fragments lying carelessly among the floor.
But to him she was life.
In his mind he took all of her pieces and put them together.
He never saw her as anything more than her and that was enough.
He only ever saw the good about her.
He was blinded by her beauty and wit.
And she was blinded with who she really was, behind closed doors the person only she saw, disgusted with herself.
But he'd never be.
He'd only ever love her and see her as life.
The only life he'd ever want to lead.