You call yourself a landmine. I wish to disarm you. Gladly taking the time to trace back every wire, every fuse, every little trigger that would set you off, and finding the perfect way of plucking it. The way that minimizes damage not just to the surroundings, but to you. I do not care how long it takes, how many restless nights it would be.
I only want to see you improve. I want to give you comfort in a world that seems to want to wrench it away. I want to disarm you so that you can simply *be* with no flourishes if desired. Cherished and adored, even if you turn out to be a neverending pet project. Until you're happy.
I hope this doesn't come off as a confession. It's not a confession. It's not.
i'm normal i'm normal i'm normal i'm normal i'm normal i'm n
