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For The One I Can’t Fix

There are things I wish I could take from you.

The fear. The sadness. The nights where everything feels heavier than it should. If I could carry even a piece of it for you, I would — without hesitation. I’d take it all if it meant you could breathe easier.


I know I don’t always say the right things. Sometimes I talk too much, sometimes not enough. Sometimes I pretend I know how to help when the truth is, I’m scared of saying the wrong thing. I’m scared of making it worse. But none of that changes how deeply I care.


I see the weight you carry, even when you try to hide it. I see the way you smile through it, how you downplay your pain so no one worries too much. And I hate that I can’t fix it. I hate that love doesn’t come with the power to erase suffering.


There are moments when I wonder if I’ve failed you somehow — if I missed something, said the wrong thing, or didn’t say enough. I replay conversations in my head, wishing I could go back and choose better words. But all I can do now is stay. To keep showing up. To keep loving you even when I don’t know how to help.


I want you to know that you’re not a burden. You’re not too much. You’re not broken beyond repair. You’re human, and you’re hurting, and that doesn’t make you weak — it makes you real.


If I could give you one thing, it would be the ability to see yourself the way I see you: still worthy, still loved, still here. Even on the days when it feels like you’re barely holding on.


And if all I can do is sit beside you in the quiet, then that’s what I’ll do. Because even when I can’t fix what’s hurting you, I can stay. And sometimes, that’s the closest thing to healing there is.


-The Healing Chaos 

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