(no subject)
And I will always choose the broken ones, the sad hurt messed up broken boys who don't know what they are or why, or who they want to be. And I will allow myself to hope that in allowing myself to love these terrible, lovely boys I will be safe - that they will never be loved by anyone but me. That I will be safe in the knowledge that my love for them is unique and rare and that they will love me for loving them as they should be loved. The broken ones deserved to be loved.
And I will aways watch when they walk away from me, when they choose the girls who are beautiful and simple, who love them without knowing that they are broken. And the boy always loves the unbroken vision of himself he sees in the eyes of that beautiful, simple girl. And I will always know that they are broken, truly, and that no one will ever love them the way that I do. And every time they leave I will be inexplicably surprised. And I will always wonder where the boys are who love the broken girls, knowing painfully and awfully and unavoidably that the broken girl may someday leave them for a beautiful simple boy who loves them as if they are beautiful and simple. But I find neither. And they keep leaving, again, and again. And I am always surprised, despite the dwindling trust I have for any of them, broken or otherwise. They keep leaving, and I keep loving them, and every time, a little more, I want to stop loving at all.
And I will aways watch when they walk away from me, when they choose the girls who are beautiful and simple, who love them without knowing that they are broken. And the boy always loves the unbroken vision of himself he sees in the eyes of that beautiful, simple girl. And I will always know that they are broken, truly, and that no one will ever love them the way that I do. And every time they leave I will be inexplicably surprised. And I will always wonder where the boys are who love the broken girls, knowing painfully and awfully and unavoidably that the broken girl may someday leave them for a beautiful simple boy who loves them as if they are beautiful and simple. But I find neither. And they keep leaving, again, and again. And I am always surprised, despite the dwindling trust I have for any of them, broken or otherwise. They keep leaving, and I keep loving them, and every time, a little more, I want to stop loving at all.