Lights Will Guide You Home

Have you ever tried fixing something, only to fail?

That's how I feel.

I'm sorry that I can not save your life, I'm sorry that I can not be there to dry your tears when you cry, or clean the blood from the floor when you slip up. I'm so sorry that I can't catch you when fall from grace, like a parachute wafting in the wind, detached from its jumper. I can not be your trampoline, I can not be your bed. I can not comfort you like the carpet that is beneath your very feet. I want so desperately to be able to hold you while you shake, to touch you gently and whisper in your ear hopes of a great, sunny future.

I would tell you, 'It might look bad now, but things will get better. Sure, it's storming, but it can't rain forever.'

Sometimes I think you don't want the comfort, sometimes I feel like you would only push me away. This scares me, because I only want the best for you. How do I tell you? I just want you as you; I want to see you smile with meaning, and laugh without putting on an act. How can I tell you that I know it phases you? How can I tell you that I know your insecurities eat you alive?

I would walk into your room and throw out every self-help book, I would tear up the thoughts of depression that hide in the very corner of your mind. I would gather you in my arms and send the harmful thoughts away, I would hold you as we both cried, as I healed you, as everything that never mattered disappeared, until it was only you and me.

I can't fix you;

but I can try.