‎In my last piece, I spoke about my purple heart.  

‎Yeah, the one not broken, but a bit scarred.  

‎I didn’t really know what I wanted: for it to be unscathed or masked.

‎

‎I guess the answer is none.  

‎I guess the question’s wrong.  

‎I guess I don’t know what I want.

‎

‎Maybe it doesn’t matter what I want, but what I need.  

‎Maybe it doesn’t matter if it’s scarred, but still beats.  

‎Maybe I… Maybe… It…

‎

‎I guess I’ve run out of hue to paint the bigger picture here.  

‎I’m used to running away from my fears.  

‎It was such a big deal when I had to face one; the biggest of them all: look at what I’ve become in the mirror.  

‎I got scared, and I left.  

‎No surprise there, I guess.

‎

‎Maybe I was scared of what I would find,  

‎or rather, what I wouldn’t.  

‎Was it right that I left?  

‎Honestly…?  

‎I don’t know.

‎

‎What if what doesn’t kill you maims you for life?  

‎What if what doesn’t make you bleed makes you bleed tears from your eyes?  

‎What if running away was the only way I knew how to stay alive?

‎

‎What if staying quiet was louder than any scream I had?  

‎What if the mirror showed me someone I never agreed to become?  

‎What if healing looks like breaking first?  

‎What if I’m still waiting for permission to be okay?

‎What if...?

‎

‎Phew… What a relief.

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