He kept insisting he was broken somehow, but I wanted to argue despite knowing it would do no good. I’d been there and knew what hopelessness felt like. Part of me felt disdain. Part of me felt compassion. I’d seen broken people before and knew the difference between people whom life had crushed and those who had merely stopped trying. Those who wore it like a badge of self-pity made me want to turn my face away.
It was all I could think as I stared into his dogged eyes.
Don’t fight for me, don’t fight for love, don’t fight because you think that’s what people expect. Fight for yourself. Believe in yourself.
I refuse to be your cause, to be anyone’s cause.