I have always seen you.

I find it almost funny how you convict me of loving naively; you really couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I have seen the inner parts of your broken soul— mapped the cracks, memorized the ache, held each jagged shard as if it were a fragment of myself lost inside another body waiting to be carried.
And I’ve seen other souls too. Whole ones. Steady ones. People who speak love instead of flinching from it— people who offer what you never could without even trying.
And you know what I did after learning this? After realizing love didn’t have to hurt? After seeing someone else could treat me better?
I wished it for you.
Because the truth is: I see the damage you’ve done to me. I see the fear behind it, the emptiness, the places where you think I’m foolish for staying.
But I’m not blind. I’m not confused. I stay because I understand you— because behind those hurting eyes I still see you. I always have.
And all I’ve ever wanted was to watch your life rise, to see you become the version of yourself I knew existed long before you did.
My life grew just by loving you. All I ever hoped was that yours could grow too.