My parents will do anything to keep me safe.

 

To keep me here under their wings and under the gaze of their eyes. They would rush out to buy me an air-cooler and make this hot, stuffy temporary room more bearable, if that meant I would not have an excuse to shift out of the house. They would cancel a trip overseas if it meant I had to stay home alone. They would pay thousands of dollars so I would get a good educational background. They would probably donate organs to me if I ever needed.

 

They will do anything, but that doesn’t mean they can do everything. They can’t prevent my first heartbreak. They can’t control how my relationships with people work out. They can’t stop the tears from flowing. They can’t alleviate the growing silence within that spills out in tiny streams of insanity and fearfulness and angry and pain. They can’t create a bubble to keep the bad things out of my life. They can’t help me find myself. They can’t tell me who I am.

 

All they can do is tell me that they love me, and pray that I will one day believe that I’m worthy of their love from the bottom of my soul.

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