Four words my thirteen year old self needed to be told

"You cannot save him." I used to think that I could Be a knight in shining armor With my sword in the air and my head held higher. I thought that I was better than what the mirror showed me. Dirty streaks across my face? War paint from my last battle. Scuffed up shoes and calloused heels? Proof of a great highway escape. Rope burns across my palms? A reminder of how strongly I held on. However, someone should've called a magician because I’d become the next grand illusion. I was the backdrop The focal point The uneven lines Which strained your eyes and made you feel as if something more was present. But really— the trick was on me Because I wasn't a knight in shining armor but a child with a toy. I was a lifeguard who’d never learned how to swim. A fireman who choked on the flames. A therapist who’d never sat in her own chair. I was just a girl with a heart one size too big and mask worn too well.

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