He set my heart on fire when I wasn’t sure I could feel a fucking thing anymore. But I feel him, burning in me, and I know that flame will never go out. He’s not any less damaged than when we first met, and neither am I. It’s not even that our broken pieces fit well together; they don’t. It’s that we’re willing to step in the glass, bleed a little for each other; that’s what matters. That’s what our love is. Broken, bloody, and perfect.
