Pieces

I spent six weeks peering through the cracks in his facade before he finally let the walls come down. Now he stands before me. Honest. Vulnerable. Broken.

Broken.

He’s broken, he’s broken.

And somehow I’m the one stooping to my knees in attempt to help him pick up the pieces of his shattered life.

Perhaps the hardest realization I have ever made is that this is not my job.

These pieces aren’t mine to cradle and cherish. I was not meant to mend this wounded soul.

I want to.

Oh, how I want to.

I want to be the one to take his hand and tell him he doesn’t have to fight it anymore. That he’s allowed to fall apart with the pieces and take the time to be broken if that is what it takes to help him heal.

I think we’re both in denial.

Him, that he’s broken. Me, that I’m not able to set everything right.

I’m afraid of stepping into this mess because it’s bigger than me. I know it’s only going to swallow me up and pull me under and steal the very breath from my lungs.

Ah, who am I kidding? Those are the kind of messes I run into full force, with fierce determination to make it through to the other side.

But sometimes, in my charging ahead, I don’t realize the messes I leave in my wake.

And my biggest fear with this one is that I’m going to mess it up even worse. That in my zeal to scoop all the brokenness up, I’m going to trample a few pieces underfoot. I’m afraid they’re going to fall from my hands like enchanted rose petals and I’m going to lose my chance to turn the beast back into a man.

I’m afraid that maybe I never was the girl who had come to break the spell.

And I want him to know—though I’ll never find the words to explain it—that walking away is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I truly believe it’s the best thing I can do for him. To back away slowly so nothing shatters like glass beneath my feet.

Because I’m not what he needs in this moment.

As hard as it is for me to admit, I’m simply not enough.

I could deny it and keep pressing forward, or I can be strong enough to accept the truth.

My eyes lock on his. I take one step back, then another.

Darling, I’m sorry if you don’t understand, but I only ever wanted the best for you. Please trust that I’m doing what’s best for you. And one day the pieces are going to fit back together. I’ll leave you to pick up the pieces, dear one. You’re the only one who knows where they fit.