Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

You’re a fighter. I can see it in all your mannerisms: the way you walk, talk, hold yourself, and look at people. You know that you are made from the passion of a moment and that you have the stars in your blood. Everything about you screams “I have been broken and I have overcome.” You want people to test you. You want people to feel inferior when they look at you. You have scars on your skin and on your soul and you wear them proudly. You know that the only person who is allowed to break you is yourself and you will never let that happen again. But despite all of this you crave love. You want someone who makes you feel soft and like you don’t have to have it all figured out. You want someone who sees the scars on your skin and doesn’t run from them, or even just accept them, but wonders how they got there and what finally made you realize that spilling the stars from your skin won’t heal the wounds in your heart. Your walls are higher than even the tallest waves of the ocean that swims behind your eyes when you’re at your weakest. No one has ever had the courage to walk up to you and look you in the eyes and say that you aren’t just pretty because someone like you can’t be confined to society’s standards of pretty. You are so much more than that lousy word. You have the power of a goddess in your heart and the grace of a pianist in your soul. You are a fighter; but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a lover. That doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to have mountains moved for you. That doesn’t mean that everyone you touch has to crumble because they can’t handle the power that courses through your veins. I know you can’t belong to me because the only person who you belong to is yourself and you’ve worked to hard to have that taken from you. You are not mine, you are yours and everything in you is fighting to keep it that way. But I do not wish to own you, just to simply give you a place to go when you’re tired at the end of the day and no longer wish you were a fighter.