December 2013; the end of another year.

There he was, lying on my bed; an act of rebellion. Long asleep, positively dreaming of a life, of which I was not part. There he was, moving his hand every now and then, twisting and turning, unable to give in.

There I was, wishing I had made other choices. Wishing I had been patient for once. There I was, breathing deep the fragrance of regret. Wishing I was good enough.

The only light in the room was that of the candles. I was cold. And scared. And happy.

And people keep asking, they will never understand.

“he’s not worth it”

-Exactly. And that's what I love about him.
And who is worth it, anyway? The person who can actually stand up to their demons?
Being with someone means trying to mend what's broken; what's the point of being with someone who's already healed? For this is exactly why even if I could be with anyone in the whole entire world, I’d still choose to hold his hand. 

And that way, maybe one day he’d learn how to live with himself. Maybe he’d learn how to raise his voice and how to suck all the venom out.

Here’s to another year of standing up for that one person who’s not really worth it.