I’ve always been attracted to broken things. Broken people. Broken animals. I like broken things.
Broken things are attractive. They stand out among the crowd. They’re different, like me.
I notice the sadness – the smile that just doesn’t reach the eyes. I notice the scars. I notice them, because I wear them too.
I like the broken things. I like how they feel. When I hug them, I can feel the broken pieces.
There are broken pieces inside of us. The damage done by years of misuse. I see those in you too.
Here we are, the same place at the same time, looking at the image of each other. You can see the brokenness of me too.
I like the broken things. Not because I can fix them, because no one can do that. But because they like me too.