Please understand the weight, my darlings, in standing on a pedestal in the middle of a town square, to open yourself as a gallery, a museum to walk through. To publicly bleed, publicly heal, so that others may watch and know themselves better. To put yourself on display, saying, “here is where I am broken. Here is where someone stole my heart. Here is where I hurt myself. Here is where I have slowly glued pieces of myself together, and learned to love the absence of the parts of me that will always be missing.” Because people will come and observe you, take what they like of you, and not always return it. There is blood streaming down and all I can hope is that people will see it and think it beautiful, helpful, lovely and brave. The tears fall thick and fast but I choose not to mask them. Here is every shade of me. I wax and I wane but like the moon I stay here, still showing my face.

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