This is my image.
I held on to you like you were the most precious thing in my world. Your hands cupped my face, its cheekbones prominent, the cheeks now unfilled by the Prednisolone hamster face of months gone by, looking into my hazel eyes. We said nothing. It was powerful, that silence. The unspoken words. My desire to fill it was palpable, unable to stop myself, I said a single, simple word; “Flawed”
You cocked your head, “Flawed?”
I feel emotionally scarred by my past. But you saw something in me from the beginning that was so pure and innocent that not even my disease could taint it. My invisible condition was just that; invisible. To you. I hid it well. I tried to, at least. It didn’t phase you. It doesn’t.
I am caught between feeling delicate and being strong. And I am unsure as to which means the most.