These hands carry you, even though they appear to be eggs. I cannot say why I do so because you don’t seem to hesitate when breaking them, along with this heart of mine that matches their delicacy. How many times can we repair such a shell? I’m sure glue is no longer suitable for the job.

Your words can no longer persuade this heart of mine into giving my all to you continually after every heartbreak – mistakes are easier to forgive than those.

Maybe “I love you (too)” has become words of convincing my mind and heart to not let you go. Maybe they’re words that make me hold on just a bit longer, believing that “we” are still worth it. I don’t know how many more bones I will lose in breaking your falls – maybe all.