It’s not my job to fix you, I’m only here to love you.
I’ve told him once that I can’t help but feel like a secondhand lover, like the self I have whenever I walk into antique coffee shops and garage sales. She has explored worlds inside of him decades before I came in, and the first time I traced maps on his skin it felt incomplete. It was only after I realized it’s because he is only left with pieces of what she has wrecked. But I’d take him in – I’d always take him in. I’ve learned to shape the chaos into constellations. Though it is not in my place to rebuild him, I still love him as a whole, completely and utterly, and I hope to be there when he becomes one.