You Deserve Someone Softer Than Me

You need to leave. I know you hate hearing that from me. I know you have spent so long reaching for me that you are tired of finding another wall I have built between us. But please, listen… let me say the things I should have said before I let you get close enough to bleed.

You always thought a part of me was cruel. That I did not love you. I know you did not say it. You never would. That is one of the things I love most about you. You have always been kinder than the world deserves. But I saw it behind your eyes sometimes. The confusion. The hurt. The questions you were always too gentle to ask.

Why? Why do you keep pulling away when I reach for you? Why do you look at me like I am something precious one moment and something dangerous the next? Why do you keep telling me to leave when I can see every part of you is begging me to stay?

I wish I could tell you it was because I didn’t care. That one day my heart had simply changed, and walking away became an easy task. But that would be a lie. I have told you enough lies already.

The truth is… I have been trying to save you from me. And before you say it, I do know how foolish that sounds. You have never needed saving, and you have never looked at me and seen the monster. That has always been the problem. You didn’t see the curse or the roses. You didn’t see the thorns. You only saw me. And I didn’t know what to do with that.

I was born in the smallest house at the edge of the village. The one beside the old forest where nothing grows properly anymore. You were born in the biggest. The one with the garden full of flowers. The one overlooking the palace.

The flowers around our home bloomed when I cried. The trees twisted toward my window when I was angry. And when I was old enough to understand what fear looked like on someone’s face… that was when the roses and thorns began. My mother told me I was not evil. She held my hands and told me that a thing could be dangerous without being bad. I wanted to believe her. I tried to. But it is difficult to believe you are harmless when the hands holding yours are wounded. When everything you touch leaves a wound.

A flower should be soft and beautiful. That is what everyone learns as a child. Flowers are meant to be held. Given as gifts. Placed in people’s hair. But my flowers were different. Every rose that grew from my hands carried thorns sharp enough to cut skin.

Beauty is pain. That was my whole life. A beautiful thing that hurt. So, I learned not to touch. Not to reach. Not to want. I learned that distance was kindness. I learned that if I stayed far enough away, nobody could get hurt.

Then you came along… and you ruined everything. You walked into my life. Into my heart, like you had no idea you were supposed to be afraid of me. You sat beside me when everyone else moved away. You spoke to me when everyone else lowered their voices. You looked at my hands – these hands that only ever brought pain – and you reached for them.

Do you know what that did to me?

Do you know how terrifying that was for me?

I wanted to believe you. More than anything. I wanted to believe that maybe you were right. Maybe I was not just the curse. Maybe I could be more. Maybe there was still a part of me worth loving.

But every time I let myself believe it… the roses grew. Every time my heart softened toward you, the thorns became sharper. Every time I wanted to hold you closer, I remembered all the ways I could hurt you.

Then came the day you cut your hand. I cut your hand. You remember. Of course you do. You smiled and told me it was nothing. You told me you had survived worse. But I saw the blood. I saw the red on your skin. I saw the rose between us. And all I could think was, I did this.

I hurt the one person who had never hurt me. After that day, I started leaving before you could ask me to stay. I stopped sitting beside you. I stopped reaching for you. I stopped letting myself imagine what it would feel like to wake up every morning and know you were still there.

Because I knew what would happen. One day you would get tired. One day you would look at all the scars I had given you and realise that love should not feel like surviving. I knew I could not bear to watch that moment come. So, I decided I would be the one to break us first.

I thought if I made you hate me, you would be safe. If I became cold enough, cruel enough, distant enough… you would stop trying to save someone who could not be saved.