The love you think you deserve.

He is broken. It is pretty obvious if you know how to read the signs. When we’re in company, he gets this blank look on his face and becomes real quiet, and stupid jokes don’t seem funny to him anymore. Just stupid. He’ll never tell you what’s wrong. That, I think, must be the biggest giveaway of all. Because he doesn’t want to complain, to hurt anyone over the fact that he had gall enough to speak against about what or who hurt him.
Truth is, you deserve restful sleep every night, coffee at 7am in the morning, a kiss on your forehead every time you step into home, vanilla scented baths and poetry that reminds you of the orange leaves strewn across the roadside in autumn or a dusky, starry night over blue-green shimmery waters. You deserve to be serenaded with violins, to have the pleasure of a first dance, hands that soothe away the stress from your body, gentle kisses that feel like balm to your lips, the antidote to all your poison. You deserve warm, freshly cleaned sheets when you step out of the shower, cuddles that make you feel like you’re home, a lover’s lap you can bury your head into, talks that read out like a magnificent piece of prose, and boy, believe me, I can go on but nothing I say can convince you otherwise unless you decide to believe it. He doesnt want to feel like a burden, he says. Someone tell that silly boy to stop being apologetic, stop swallowing down every hurt that comes your way, do not bottle up your voice boy, make yourself be heard, demand it. You deserve it.

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