I’m sorry, darling.
Sorry that loving me feels like reaching for sunlight through a cracked window, warm for a moment, but never quite whole. Being loved by you is like feeling the sun on my face after a long, cruel winter. It’s gentle. It’s golden. It reminds me that I’m still alive. But it also reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

I’m not the right person to be with. I will tilt your world even when I don’t want to. I will bruise the softness you give me with the sharp edges of the person I’ve become. I carry storms inside me that I cannot always silence. There are parts of me that don’t know how to receive love without flinching.

I have so many things I need to fix. I am so painfully broken. I am not whole, and you… You deserve someone who is.
It’s not that I love you half-heartedly. I love you with everything that still beats inside of me. But half of me remains buried in the past, trapped in a labyrinth of memories I can’t escape. I keep trying to find my way back to you, but the walls keep shifting, and I am lost.

I don’t deserve anything good in this world. Not yet. I am not worthy of your light, your softness, your steady hands. I am not a good person right now. And wounded people like me… we keep cutting others just by trying to hold them.

I have nothing in this world I can truly call my own. No place to fall back to. No arms that have ever been mine entirely. I come from a miserable place you can’t even imagine, a place where love was something earned through pain, and safety was never guaranteed.

I am full of shame. It clings to me like a second skin, whispering that I will never be enough. And maybe, for now, that’s true.

But if I could ask for anything at all, it wouldn’t be for you to fix me. It would be for the world to be a little softer. For the ache to be a little quieter. For the day to come when I can meet your love without trembling.

I’m sorry, darling. For not being ready. For not being whole. For loving you in the only broken way I know how.