Isn’t it funny how you can look at someone – so whole and strong and complete – and imagine all the past wounds reappearing on their delicate skin?
All the scars tattooed on their physical appearance and all the emotional hurt manifesting on the body?
Then you realise that they are not part of your imagination, but are real. You just missed them somehow when you first shook their hand or said hello.
And there is nothing you can really do to help them heal or realise that it is sometimes all in the mind and letting go is the best option?
Because you yourself is pretty much as fucked up and damaged too?
Well, I do.