For the past month I’ve held hands with someone, I’ve kissed them.
I found out it was never a relationship because of my own personal morals.
“But I’m not going to change how I treat you,”
“Neither will I.”
Sometimes my kindness hurts more than anything, I’ve known this for years.
“I’m going to stand by you in the way that she can’t. You need somebody to fight your demons, I’m that person, but I’m also going to move on.”
“I’m fine about that,” he says quickly. I smile.
You’re so broken, the least I can do is fix you.