Life has a funny way weaving subtle patterns into our lives without being too obvious. Sometimes these patterns stem from routines, traditions or cultural upbringings. Other times these patters can be seen in the people we attract; the people we let in.
So far, I’ve come to the conclusion that I like broken people.
I’ve chosen the sad ones, the crumbles, the black sheep, the ugly ducklings, the deformed pancake everybody always choses to eat last. These people are beautiful warriors. Whether it’s due to their mental illness, heartbreak, or deeply rooted insecurities, they’ve all got stories to tell. These types of people call me. I have am initial impulse to provide them with comfort, I want to be there for them, to listen, to care… I want to tell them how wonderful they are, and deep down, I want to fix them.
But you see, there’s a problem.
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