This is what it should be like. The sincerity, the warmth, concentrated into just one evening. There was no guilt when I woke up, none of the dirt or shame which had become as familiar as the scars you left me with. It doesn’t have to be that way. There can be both truth and beauty in the same room. What was ripped from me is now slowly coming back, tiny green vines twisting over coarse dead roots. I am not what I once was, but I can be again. But then there’s you, who can only tear and steal.