I’ve lost control of the simple act of being able to breathe. I’m hyperventilating. “I don’t need you to show me how to breathe,” I say. “You don’t?” He looks skeptical. “I think I can handle the simple act of breathing without you.
We are all broken in some way. But it’s all the shattered pieces that give us depth. Like stained glass, it’s how the pieces and colors fit together that truly makes us beautiful.
I hate that I got dealt shitty parents! I hate how you make me feel like scum! I hate that you’re always running away from me! And I hate that I ever fucking gave you the power to destroy me!