Tell me, please, what makes you think I’m not capable of loving you. What makes you think that I’ve never fallen in love with boys who had nightmares so horrible that they wouldn’t sleep for days upon days and boys who hallucinated six crows always circling above my eyes. Let’s not forget the boy who cringed and cried when I touched him, because of where his father’s hands wandered when he was only five years old.
Tell me, please, why I don’t know how to love people who are easy to love, or why you think that you are some drastic case of sorrow, survivor’s guilt, and enough anxiety and depression to bury the world - you are not. I’ve loved people who had laid themselves in deeper graves than you. Believe me, there is enough scar tissue around my heart to handle loving every single part of you.