I love you and all of your broken hearts.
I love all your post-apocalyptic thoughts.
I love every cigarette **** in your ashtray,
that stands for every self-reflecting moment you've had.
I adore the scattered truth of your bedroom.
And I love that your emotions haunt you so elegantly.
Break the thinking that imperfect is a thing.
And exit this dream.
**You were born to breathe in every bit of this chaos.