It’s almost ironically poetic that the moment I got better the moment I think I'm “enough” the moment I prepared to send everything that. It happened. It’s almost like the universe is making a point of how slow I actually am. I was loved and sabotaged myself into thinking I couldn’t return it. I was loved so immensely that it never occurred to me that I could also immensely love. I wasn’t used to it, I didn’t know I could. It’s too late for please, there’s only room for what ifs. I give in, I abdicate, I lay my sword down anyways.
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