I can never fully explain why, but there’s something
undeniably raw about loving someone who’s been wounded before.
You know that
this person isn’t just a survivor, but that they must have licked their own wounds clean
and gotten back up after life decided to give them a beating or two.
There’s something
undeniably brave about someone who doesn’t hide their scars, but instead,
displays them with triumph and audacity. Once this is recognized, the
shamelessness alone could keep any bystander either fearful or madly in love.
There’s
something undeniably sacred about holding someone who’s been wounded before,
because a part of you knows they don’t even want to be held but they will still
try their best not to bleed on you.
In fact, it’s almost as if you need it more
than they do.