Apologies for the lack of explanation(Completed)

        

            Have you ever imagined finding someone with a past so similar to yours that you could instantly become friends? I have. I hoped our ideas and ways of thinking would align closely because of that, forming a bond tied not by time but by spirit. As romantic as that sounds, I knew it was an unrealistic, perhaps childish expectation. So, I didn’t expect to stumble upon a version of myself I wish I hadn’t lost, nor did I anticipate being willing to offer my current self a chance to be kind to them. Yet, with you, it was different. Our childhoods varied greatly, our experiences even more so, and our time on this earth differed significantly. Still, the puzzle pieces we held fit together perfectly.

Your words and actions mirrored what I would have done if I had found someone I wanted to grow closer to. Everything you said and did resonated with me on a personal level, a connection I’d never felt before. People act and speak based on logical reasoning, and when their actions don’t align, it often points to dishonesty, signaling the end of a relationship. Usually, I understand others’ actions by considering their perspective and feelings. But often, there are gaps in their logic that I fill with negative assumptions, and the pieces fall into place. No one wants to be the villain, so people hide the parts of themselves they find shameful, assuming they’re more likely to be hated than loved. Then you came along. Your interactions left no gaps to fill, required no further explanation, and offered pure affection with a timid yearning for the same in return. I found myself wanting only to shower you with love until you believed you deserved it.

To be honest, I planned, as I always had, to offer just enough kindness until you could forge your own path to happiness, independent of me. To my surprise, you stayed. You uncovered my deepest secrets and thoughts I was still unraveling. Instead of turning away, you gazed at them. Your care stripped away the superficial kindness I offered to anyone who asked. You treated everything I shared, even parts I hadn’t meant to reveal, with such tenderness, as if they were precious gifts. I tried to find flaws in you, to see you as less than you appeared, but in my mind, you were a canvas with spaces to fill, flawless and inviting. So I began painting, like a teenager rediscovering an old box of crayons. Each space was outlined in a distinct color, guiding me to the right shade. With effort, I filled them correctly. The joy and fulfillment deepened my attachment to the canvas, leading me to trace each line carefully, ensuring every stroke matched the colors it called for.

I was so proud of the painting of you in my mind that I rushed to add details—too fast, too soon, too intensely. I felt as if I’d torn the canvas and punctured a hole. Devastated, I prepared to flee the mess I’d made. Then I accidentally chipped away paint that predated my work. The damage revealed hidden layers of the painting, a unique masterpiece, one of only a few in existence. Yet I, of all people, had harmed it. So I resolved to mend the tears and patch the holes, even if it required my hair or skin—I’d have given them gladly. But you asked for time, for the paint to dry. So I’ll hold you together, checking the damage until you’re ready for me to repair it. You’ll have the time you need, and I’ll ensure you don’t fall apart as the paint dries.

Take your time; let me tend to the damage I caused. I’ll repair it when you’re ready. Though I can’t erase the scars, I can make them beautiful. I’ll help you embrace this chapter of our story, even if you resent it now. I’ll show you how to love all that you are, just as I do. No matter the wind or rain, paper cuts or prolonged drying, I won’t waver. Take your time, as I’ve taken mine in solitude. And don’t worry—if another artist paints over this canvas, as long as you remain whole and retain your inherent beauty, I’ll be content. I’ll wait for the day I might hold the brushes again, even if that day never comes.