But why would you choose to love broken?
When the world is already in pieces?
Aren't you supposed to want whole, loved, and good?
Why would you work that much harder to search for me, just to prove I deserve love still? Underneath my darkness, the picked at scabs? I'm the ever so little amount of grains that could barely fit on your pinky finger. Filled with numbered happiness, unguaranteed strength for the people around her. For hersel-- myself. I am not worth saving. I am the whole universe, without all the stars, moons, planets. Just infinite black holes.