You see the cracks first,
the places where you’ve broken,
where the light doesn’t reach.
But they—
the ones who love you—
see the way the light bends around you,
even when you feel invisible.
You don’t think you’re worthy of love,
but they’ve held it for you,
carefully, like something fragile,
even when you didn’t ask for it.
They’ve seen the best of you
on the days when you felt like the worst.
You search for approval in empty spaces,
chasing after people who won’t even turn their heads.
But the ones who matter are there—
quietly watching, patiently waiting—
for you to notice them.
They see reasons for your happiness
when you see none.
If you can’t find joy in what you have,
what makes you think you’ll find it
in something more?
If you can’t love the stars,
you’ll never understand the moon.
If you can’t love yourself now,
how will you ever feel whole
when you’re still waiting
for someone else to hand you that missing piece?
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