It’s not that you’ve broken me, for I was already shattered into pieces. When I met you, I had been able to glue only so many pieces into place. It’s that when you were picking up those pieces, appearance took priority over foundation. You were too focused on the things that held no significance, and used water instead of glue, to hold those pieces, letting me crumble into what I once was years ago.
My fragility is not a result of having let you in, but of letting so many others in before you and drop me on the concrete. There’s only so many falls I can take before I shatter into a million tiny, sharp fragments of what I used to be.
What I need is a foundation. A place to start, where I can build myself back up, and with reinforcement this time, so that I may no longer be as delicate.