A lot of times- in the name of love- I take the role of a captive priest who is chained to the person I love. I repeat the same words to make them feel better: I forgive you, you didn't do anything wrong. I watch the walls, and nod along to their pathetic stories about what made them realize they loved me. I was feigning love, and they were feigning love. We wanted to love each other so badly that we would overlook the misery we both instilled in one another. I became a copy of them, and when I looked in the mirror I saw pieces of their soul sewn in with mine. I was a patchwork of their life. Loving them didn't make parts of myself shine brighter, it made parts of me flicker and fade away. They took pieces of me everyday, and I took pieces of them. But by the time we both realized it was too late. We were cut up, fractured, and bleeding from trying so hard to fit the pieces into our skin.

As much as I regret them, they helped me learn that love can't be thrown out like a prayer in order to save a dying relationship. Faking love, faking yourself, seems like the perfect solution.  It might seem easier to patch up a crack in the wall rather than completely demolish the foundation and start new. But sometimes you just have to realize that love doesn't have to hurt so bad it feels like your heart may shatter if you breathe too deeply. Sometimes you have to break down every wall you put up to protect yourself in order to heal the damage done. Real love makes every single part of you shine bright and ring true. Real love has no walls and boundaries, and you can't have it without being yourself.